HAHAHAHA (moan moan moan)

It's Shrove Tuesday. I've eaten lots of pancakes and frivolously decided to 'give up moaning for Lent'. So, in the spirit of getting it out of my system, here are some hitherto-repressed-from-the-public-eye Moany Depression Poems. (HAHAHAHA they shriek, we've been released.....)

The light evening sky

The light evening sky

Said it was time for change.

It lied.

The trees were still bare,

The air

Was still cold,

I still

Felt

Shit.

The prematurely lit

Street lamp

Glared at me

Across the railway lines,

Like an unfriendly

(But honest) eye.

I wrote that about this time of year, two years ago, at Teddington station.

Burnt out

Friday night,

Ten to nine

And high time

To be home.

No

Second wind tonight;

Feel my soul clenched tight

Against anyone who comes between

Me

And a deep, long sleep.

19/11/10.

Sundays

About a quarter past four

She got around

To removing the mascara

From the night before.

Now, she thought,

I must get out,

Get some daylight, and-

Oh

It's already dark.

Sundays, she thought,

Are hard work.

28/11/10.

Now that wasn't actually so bad was it? (I am still sitting on the worst offenders...)

Bank Holiday Monday and A Family Debate

Also at Middlebrow magazine.

Bank Holiday Monday

I have cleared away
The Christmas decorations.
I have made soup
And written letters,
Filed my nails
And some bills,
Deleted old emails.

I have been to the shops
And the post box.
I have hoovered and swept
(With little effect).
I have been jogging and stretched.

I have read a novel, in bed,
Watched almost to the end
Of Brideshead Revisited

And I still
Miss you.

A family debate

For Christmas,
Grampy told us,
He’d like a metal detector.

No one was quite sure why.
Pushing ninety,
He didn’t go far,
Just down
To the shops
For the paper
And a coffee at Costa,
Sometimes to the doctor
Or the M&S in town.

‘Where will you use it?’
Asked Mum.
He seemed stumped.
‘Round the garden’,
I suggested,

To which he agreed
And Granny chipped in,
They’d once found
(Or someone down the road
Had), an old coin
And (whispering) a finger bone.

Mum was unconvinced.
‘I think,’ she said,
‘I’d rather get you a new TV.
You’ll get a better picture
And more space
With a flat-screen.’

Grampy wasn’t beaten yet.
‘It won’t detect metal though,
Will it?’
Mum had to admit
It wouldn’t
(But she bought it anyway)

PANIC! PANIC! and dread.

Just back from  travelling up and down England visiting family. I wrote this at the start of the week....

Packing

I hate packing.
It should be,
If not relaxing,
At least quite exciting,
The preliminary activity
To going away.

But instead
My head
Fills with panic
And dread.

Which shoes,
I muse,
And what coat?
Have I got
Enough socks?
The right tops?

Will I be too hot
Or too cold?
Should I take new things
Or old?
How many pairs
Of trousers will I wear?

And I stare,
Near despair,
At my suitcase,
Knowing that I'll choose
The wrong things

And that it won't
Really matter, anyway.

20/2/11.

Happy Valentine's Day!

Here's one I wrote last year and have been saving...

Romance

I picture romance

As an invisible

(But shimmering) cord

That encircles, protects

And connects me 

To some other

(Vague) figure,

Arming me

Against mundane daily anxieties

(Mostly monetary, or social, or both),

Empowering me

To smile suddenly

And say,

'What do I care, anyway?'

As I secretly tug,

To check

It's still there.

1/11/2010.

Melon!

Just devoured half a cantaloupe in about 2 minutes flat.

92% water

Don't look for integrity

In a melon;

They're tricky.

Slice them, dice them,

Scoop them out with a spoon.

Chop them into neat long strips

To hang dripping

From grinning

Faces.

Dissolve yourself

In brightly coloured chunks;

All emptinesses.

You shouldn't eat the seeds,

Apparently

(And, having bitten

Too ardently,

I can also say,

Don't eat the skin.)

5/2/11.

Pre-birthday breakdown/ silly haiku poem

Yesterday I became 25! Which was nice. Had a lovely day out in Oxford - fresh food, yummy friends, bit of old air.

Luckily I'd managed to get my annual birthday meltdown out of the way the day before ...

Turning 25

Saying goodbye
Felt stranger
Than I'd thought it would.

Nothing on my ipod
Matched my mood,
And I flicked through

Tune after tune,
Sitting on the rail replacement
Bus service,

Not sure where
I was going
Or how to call Phil,

Since my phone battery
Was dead
And I didn't have change

For the phone booth
At Liverpool Street.
Late to meet

Phil's sister for the first time,
Claustrophobic on the central line,
Panicky on the northern,

And tomorrow
I'll be 25
And I don't know what to do.

That was FAR TOO GLOOMY and should have been REPRESSED. Quick quick, here is a silly poem featuring a bird and a worm:

Haiku

'Haiku', mused the bird.
'Bless you',
Replied a passing worm,
Who assumed
That the bird had sinus problems.

24/1/11

Those pointy bits are not decorative

Ouch

I'm not very good
With plants,
Which they seem to know
In advance.

As soon as I own them
They start to wilt
And die,
Except for the cacti

On my sill,
Which, try as I will,
Won't give in.
Resilient, they reach

For the sky, occasionally
Surprising me,
With a sharp, sudden
Prick.

17/1/11.