Wednesday, 16 December 2009


I just had a thought
well, a few thoughts
about music being so far away
only the beat is discernible
then suddenly its here
like its bursting into the room
and you can hear every melody
and the beat is changed
because you got it so wrong before
Or when you lie in the silence
and the TV is rambling somewhere
distance babbling, incessant quiet noise
and then you get up
to walk closer
and listen
but its not there
no TV, just silence again
everyone is asleep
and you realise you've been listening
to your own head.

~ Charlotte Sometimes (SRWB) 2009

Clarity (for Kristaline)

What did you do?
When the wind beat the rain
down hard on your soul, with no roof
How can it be?
That flesh and blood and mind
survive under a burning, painful sun
Hell rather than just... hell

These corners come so easily
when called in various ways
called to battle, to war
always a back to the wall
and fear in your heart
poised beside foe
in similar goals
yet loved, and saved.

The curses of time past
were building your heart
In misty, cold streets
and open spaces
Invoking the need to run
Summoning the strength
to fight
throwing the intent
for a new world
A world of night.

Planning your demise
with neurones and synapses
firing into the abyss
Your protector becoming
your darkest hour
again and again
You have nothing
then everything
then nothing again
then something.


Does your star give you answers?
under the red glimmer
of memories
suffused reminders
Bringing forth the demons
of a time when you were someone else
yet you are you
and nothing less

~ Charlotte Sometimes (SRWB) 2009


I have a notion that I will not know how to start
without sounding like someone else
the centre, the core is brilliant
but the periphery is really quite crap
When I try to sleep at night
I see "God", in colours
and sounds, that whirl around
my Kansas-top room
and then I feel grateful
almost pleased that I am not exposed
the way you want me to be
and I think we might fly if I wasn't hemmed in
Behind my eyes there is always a spotlight
A screen of black with a small hole
that lets me see something, only partial
I need no light when I open them again
through the great expanse of criss-cross glass
there is already a light shining, its cold and white
I should not have thought all that before sleep time
I should not have listened, and breathed and counted
I should not have wondered at all
For now I am hanging on to the bedpost
Sheets and clothes flying in a hurricane
I know I need to let go but I spend my time rearranging the mess
Trying to tuck myself in again so I can awaken properly
Not to be dragged through the violent dimensions of the stars
I awaken a total of 8 times, always clinging to something
Why is it always so stormy up there?
The winds of impatience are always waiting
as if I should have done this so long ago

~ Charlotte Sometimes (SRWB) 2009

Old Woman By The Sea

The northern ocean's harsh swell accompanies her coffee.
The smell of salt and sea life is as ripe as the air is fresh.
It is an odour that clings to her clothes, skin and hair these days
as well as her heart and soul.
She is where she wanted to be,
her old bones content
at the hard-working peacefulness of the view before her.

It is a sunny day, in a grey-blue hazy kind of way.
The end of the summer always brings such warmth and peace.
The tourists return to their city lives
and calm is restored once more
as the natives count their earnings and stash it safely away for winter hibernation.
She can almost hear the rasp of paper and chink of coin
as nests are feathered and laden
with nourishment for harsher times.

She sits on her cliff-top deck in deep thought.
She is, by nature, an intense thinker but today is different.
Today brings thoughts of all that has passed,
the big picture and a questioning of the purpose of life's events.
The passage of time evident upon her life-worn skin,
accelerated by the last 20 years of sea air... salt, fish and whiskey.

The almost comical sound of the small fishing boats horn
drags her back to the present
and she takes another sip of her luke warm coffee
as she watches the men below prepare for a days work.
A mixture of young and old,
generations of family work together as a team
in the hope of bringing home their livelihoods.
She smiles as the elder of the group
gives one of the young ones a slap across the head.
Life is made up of slaps for these people...
a thick ear for disobedience, a slap on the back for a job well done
or a gentle slap on the upper arm with a slight squeeze
to convey commiseration and support
when the vessel returns home empty of a days catch.

She thinks about the possible days produce.
Will they come home with a boat laden full of fish?
The beautiful stench of the ocean and the slime
of guts and scales on it's decks and down the front of their waders.
Muscles will ache and complain no matter what the outcome.
Sweat, tears and a tiredness like no other
will bring them home to anxious loved ones.

She has had a hundred years and sixty-three days of the daily grind.
Every day a new start. A new hope
Will I bring home something worthwhile this evening
or have I wasted yet another day in frustration and pain?
There is nothing but pain now. Physical and emotional.
Although the emotional distress seems to have developed a calm to it,
A yearning, a regretful tune, a sigh and a shrug
but nevertheless
and peaceful.

~ Charlotte Sometimes (SRWB) 2009


"Sorry, I'm
mental" I explained

"It's ok, you're fabulous" he replied

I'm not good or fair or lying
and your masochism knows no end
maybe if we wait a while, you might leave
with your knotted handkerchief and your stick
Your sturdy boots marking a path
to something more... predictable.

I'm worried about that, about you staying
locking me away and being too accepting of things
Maybe underneath it all I am trying to make you leave
What will I do then? Cry?

I'll just recall that look on your face
the one you adopt when you dont understand
but you really want to ... have to
and it's not because you need to
but so that you can be as mad as people think.
I listen to your iPod and I know the songs
but I think they are from someone else
and the headphones make my ears itch
Did we ever like the same things?

After years, we know each other
yet we have no clue what the other is thinking
Our osmotic embrace is bland and forgotten
on the doorstep, in pyjamas and pin-striped suits
and all I can think is that one day
you might let them take me away
and I will have nothing to do
but scratch out my soul on hard wooden tables
and sit in a plastic-sponge chair
my legs entwined casually
as all the answers to questions
become vacant looks into psychotic space.

Will you walk away then?
Or still stay and bring me flowers
Your arms laden with comfortable clothes
and pretty things
We could walk in the garden then
I think we might find each other
but we would have to work
and keep busy
Because explaining
will always push us apart.

~ Charlotte Sometimes (SRWB) 2009

Broken Pieces

When she awoke this time, she felt sad. Nothing had happened to make her feel this way, she just did. Her eyes examined the grey, almost stormy, sky above. It was not a dramatic sky, just one that threatened something, or nothing. The stars were still there, dotted randomly between the cloud and the moon hung full and outlined, in a shadow, almost transparent.

Many times she would awake like this, feeling intensely wrong, or sad. Her legs were missing again, from the knees, and her heart was carved carefully, but neatly on her chest. The point where her torso joined her pelvis was folded and creased like an accordion, pivoting without control and creaking with every movement. Her hair was gone, a band aid slapped on the side of her head where something had been careless and brutal. No care taken when placing her here.

She sat in the granite, crystal-like sand. Her stumps spread before her and her arms dropped uselessly at her sides. Her fingers trailed across the ground, picking at the paper hearts that had been shaken from her soul. This is why she was sad. She was losing heart. The winter tree behind shaded her from nothing. It’s life long drained away, gaping holes where the foliage of comfort once had been. She was exposed, stripped bare, dismantled and reassembled in the most horrific ways. Grit-filled tears filled her painted eyes, the acrylic from an artists brush stinging and reminding her to look down at her disjointed form.

You ask too many questions, she thought… that’s why it ended this way.

An eternity of broken pieces.

~ Charlotte Sometimes (SRWB) 2009


Lavender, milk and honey
glazed looks and knock-out vapours
A pill that churns in my stomach
making me restless
and sick
and all I can do is think
think of getting it out
misery place
self indulgent little space
A bunch of pixels
made pretty sometimes
with errors
and obscene code
- Code names
Consciousness plagues me
I need to lose it

My mind starts in a store
queuing, endless fucking queues
then it all goes really wrong
Hysterically confident (and tired)
I end up in hospitals
at funerals
at embarrassing weddings
and silent baptisms
parties with strangers
where the nearest hole in the wall
is a welcome escape
I spend hours trying to crawl through it
I sit in a gutter with vodka
eating ice cream with long (deliberately) lost friends
I remember the most obscure incidents
that meant so much to me
and nothing to you
Why didn't we do something?
Actually, we should have done nothing
It all seems a little futile
but it's taken me hours of thinking
to figure that out

The train stops (crashes?)
I have gone too far
My station 5 miles back
Silent tears fall
sideways from one eye to the other
soaking memories and what-ifs
marinating them in nothing
but wasted time
I am empty enough to sleep
but angry and sad enough not to
I have forgiven so much
but it still keeps me awake
The knowledge that if I had just said
"Fuck you"
I would be asleep right now
and not riding this track
of the never-ending





to tell you

exactly what I think!

~ Charlotte Sometimes (SRWB) 2009


If I stay, leave or hang around somewhere in between
a vague limbo amidst the brilliant carnival
of should and must-do and wait-a-minute
Nothing will change in my fake smile -
within my shallow heart
and I find comfort right here
in your presence and your mind
An inside truth has more perilous depths
than safer places to rest

I stand tall, strong and slightly numb
yet the shadow cast behind me
betrays the thoughts and feelings of my soul
A shade too black - sharp on a sunny day
Not blurred around it's edges
nor softened in any form of forgiveness
Attached still in places, yet not quite part of me
A dark, chalk outline of the other
The perfect blueprint of a lucid dream
once seen and never forgotten

I write so that you can understand
yet I want to hide it all in rhetoric
And carefully placed posies
in rows and rows of calculated calm
It's too easy to string obscurity together
and to know you've said everything
yet given nothing away.

~Charlotte Sometimes (SRWB) 2009