Sunday, 28 March 2010

Thoughts on Losing Lilith

On first wake with beast, quietly tethered
A beauty appeared; born of filth and sediment
groomed from my own creation 
Impure dust forged clean
Coccyx stump hacked and weeping
Burned and bound 
As weakness flows into rivers of primary blood.
Surely not the same earth and clay
From which my own perfect ego birthed.
Thoughts of capture re-emerge
As the beasts distaste struggles 
against a futile coupling.
Turning to face my glorious gift
I feel hope, with a prayer
That the tide would turn
To my favour...

"Will you match me in strength and faith?
and not ask that I lie beneath you
still and tolerating as the beast you tamed and refused?"

She bears Sin, the first
Of independance and strange notion
The blood of a hardened mind shows
Within universal eyes
Weakness desert me!
I cannot contain us
The burden is hers
To re-live...
To hold...
Forever more.

"Those who know Love as the sacred word
and who use it justly,
must be strong enough to hold on for the ride"

She speaks of the light within
And travelling poisonous tides
Soaking in corrupted rains lest myself be lost
We were one, her front to back
Yet now she seeks to utter a name
In rising above, she takes the blame.

She... demon queen; in separate form, 
I see my need abandoned; a limb
A shadows departure through the boundaries
A flickered glimpse through gates of destruction
and catastrophic shores of abandoned oceans
Shame, my love, shame; show remorse
For lives of whispered children lost in "defyant" battles
Slumbered seduction bears the spawn of life's ruin
Punished and banished in free-will's cage.

With ego dimmed I ask for more
My falsified rib is ripped and torn
Re-emerging as succulent fruit
To tempt and strip bare the truth
I am no longer protected
I see the purity that once was
And I turn to regard the amputated part
With contempt and anger
My own proclivity mirrored
once more, in beauty's face

Her Sin is the second...

She has unveiled my failure as a man

~ Copyright Charlotte Sometimes aka SRWB 2010


You can always sit proud
upon your hard-built monument
of jagged lines and hope
Belief? What have we here?
The self, the spirit, the hoax
The rough and tumble that appears
in battle, on a bloody field of expectant turf
Carved in sand, crumbled and solid
Taking a piece of the earth home
Valued, values, valuing nothing
Such a decorative pleasure
to trample underfoot
Idols and heroes 
I can give you all
A shining, ever-changing 
billion dollar screen
Filling in all those little, white gaps
left in haste and ambition
Blur the lines
No time, no boundaries here
Slumbering dragons do not lie
nor stay and beg when you ask
Polite though it may seem
The bite is harsh and unexpected
A new view every second
Instead of the static, eroding scenery
of time lost, bored and stagnant
behind a polaroid mask.

~ Copyright Charlotte Sometimes aka SRWB 2010

Green Faeries

I can't write like that anymore
I'm liking the real stuff, you know?
Tell me who you really are

(I am illustrating a poem I've never written
Looking carefully through keyholes
of locked doors
Because someone said
"GOD is in there")

Don't go through a thesaurus
and give me a frilled-up version
of who you want to be
Who do you want me to be?

(A cauldron boils your morbus heart
under a door handle
that contains the knowledge
of all time and space
Touch it, and let the flowers fall
from their mosaic
upon crackle-painted glass frames
with green rims)

Everyone wants to be enigmatic
from time to time
We all want to stand on the mountain side
with the wind blowing our hair back
thinking how life's not fair
and it's all such a tragedy
that we're not super hero's
nor able to wear corsets and breeches
and look deep and sad and crushed

(Wild up high on jagged rock
Black of air down steaming loch...
It's the end of the line
Love plays in circles
"I am beauty" it said
before she fell)

No one wants to look up to you
or be helped by you
They just want to relate
to something
grab hold of anything
they can
- - - stand

(Preach it.. sing out loud
I can't touch it though
all but a stray tendril 
Flicked until it can be pulled through
Dragged screaming in to green flame
and diving, milkshake butterflies)

There's no structure
no form
we don't give a crap whether it's
a metaphor or a simile
we just want to read it
and nod
maybe smile
and go make another coffee
before we sort the washing out
and think about cracking open the bottle
in the freezer...

(It is dawn for ambitious souls
Time to go, the eager trudge
Pressing a bell to get off
but it doesn't work
The last stop for false idols
and omniscient epics in HELL)'s frozen to syrup
and that's as special as it gets
and half way down the special
we feel like we should be saying stuff
that's when we're on the mountain top(or cliff edge!)
but if you turn away and drink the other half
it gets real...Give me real

(I'm bouncing on my bed
and it all changes
and then there is a tunnel
It wants me to enter
but I back away
"This isn't real" I thought
So it disappeared
and I looked out of the window
once more... intermittently)

Unless you're a lightweight
and real is a bunch of random keys
hit at the same time..when your





Copyright Charlotte Sometimes  aka SRWB 2010

Saving The World

Take your pages of opinions
out into the big picture
inset them, like a polaroid
and crush them carefully
within your hateful fist of revolution.

Validation sleeps for now, silently

Change the world, pick it up and drop it down
March a path against apathetic generations
that many have walked (and stumbled)
through centuries of unrest and discontent.

Use your newborn mind to try to achieve
that which has been done before.
Your wake up call is weak in this place
because your conviction is null.

Take it out of here and strip yourself
Naked and bleeding upon your cross
before the mass of bleating animals
waiting for a new leader, a new idea.
March upon that which you hate
with courage and weeping sores.

Let the puss and infestation
smash droplets of faith
in your wake
Carving new times
and perfect hope.

Raise a handful of justified paper
up high, punch the air
and tell them your word is law.

You are their saviour
Responsible for their vapid lives
You are free to spend your time
thinking of new ways to confuse
and trick all into believing your truth.

Those who have fallen along the way, poor souls
They fall and sleep soundly on a comfortable path
To be ridiculed for their confusion.

They once stood, shouting and abandoned
in mispent youth and early days
of fucking each other on hill tops
whilst brandishing thoughts in yelled slogans
born of inexperience and adrenaline and not much else
life never lived, not yet.

When wisdom comes, it is not born of thoughts
It's a by-product of a vacant existence
and then you're too old and entrenched

Too tired and bound

to do a damn thing about it.

~ Copyright Charlotte Sometimes aka SRWB 2010

Stuff To Do

I wrote most of it at 3am
in my head
Chapters of perfect prose and
stories no one has ever told
It's brilliant
and it disturbs my life again
forgotten genius

I'm an ordinary girl in a lot of ways
I do routine things, rinse, repeat
It's not nondescript
It's a wild ride
But never crazy enough any more

I look at here and there
and compare
I can't get deep enough
the screen is too flat
and I feel the need to go dig out
my old one
so I can reach in
and push it all back
MEAN something

Translate what it says in my mind
Not what it tells them in black and white
The understanding that comes in the night
That's it, that's me
You'll see
I can't do that... be me
It never comes out that way
Fighting with what I have to do
and what I have to be

My mind's scrappin' with school nights
and hum drum days
What's for tea?
I watched a programme on telly
about Tourettes
It's not good, I'm thinking
They're just saying what they're thinking
If I did that I'd have Tourettes
People already flinch and wait at parties
When I've had a few
What is she going to say?
She always tells truth that one
and it's never for the best

I can pick you all out
and tell you who you are
but there is nothing much
to grab hold of is there?
You wouldn't understand
with a vacant look
and make-up that's been on
since 5 am
Bronzer, now there's a thing
If I put my shades on I'll see you
Bring you into focus
behind that *glow*
If I'm not smiling
it's because I rushed out
without picking my shades up
off the table

Brain to mouth filter is on the blink
But you can't do that when you're ordinary
It doesn't rest easy on the bland surface
of making buns for school fairs
and smiling like you know what you're doing
and you haven't got your Pyjamas on under your coat
not really
I just like polka dot pants

now there's a word
and it's been ages since I rambled on
trying to break that block
the one that only disappears
when the lights are off
and I'm lying on my back
wondering why the hell
someone artexed the ceiling
I can see it in the black
cos I know it's there
I hate it
I'd buy a Dictaphone
and shock the world
but then I'd wake everyone up
and there is stuff to do tomorrow

at 7am...

** and a bit more...

'cos I remember a conversation
someone reminded me last night
it was all spoken in Yorkshire (like)
Of some lad reading my mind
"I could fall in luv wi ya"
easy done Lad, I said
You'll be rayt soon enough
"Tha's not an ordinary lass"
Yeah burrit's difficult innit
cos life's a journey wi' fightin'
Fightin' wi' both sides
an' never bein who ya truly are
Gettin' sick of askin' 'ow much 'ams
left in't fridge
So you walk miles as just to keep checkin'
** shit, I can speak Yorkie but I can't bloody type it, it's exhausting**
My life is a trip of incongruence
and that's the problem
right there
A running commentary on every move
Like a derby where the nags are shagged out
and you're forever waiting
for the man in the box
to shut the fuck up
'cos I can't think what I want to think
The extra-ordinary stuff
while Im listening to you
and washing dishes

It's only 9am...

Copyright Charlotte Sometimes aka SRWB 2010


We always walked home this way. Through The Industrial Estate - T.I.E. It was not one of your ordinary, corrugated, breeze block villages but an old style TIE - one with stinking, billowing chimneys that seemed to reach into the heavens as far as you could see, the smoke spewing orange, red and yellow in the early hours of the morning against a clear, pitch-black sky. It was a place filled with cobbled, broken pavement and rounded, crumbling bricks that looked like they shouldn't fit together anymore. Almost like they had been forced into a picture by a determined puzzle-doer who had rammed the pieces in any old how. It was still alive, alive and whirring. The low drone of activity a constant accompaniment to the long trudge through it's dark alleys. There were lights on here and there, intermittently lighting our perilous path home. Each building was half derelict, half functioning - as if someone had switched everything off and moved into the next room as another part had disintegrated and ceased to tick the boxes on the health and safety check list.

It didn't matter how many times we walked through it, we never went the same way twice - not by choice - it just happened that way. Often we would break our drunken, sniggering march and run off in different directions, shouting, screaming and jumping through broken doorways and over rubble piles. The only point that remained the same on our journey was the bridge that marked the entrance to this neverland... we would trot over it, 
*trip trap trip trap*... nervously eyeing the thick, dark water swirling underneath. Blue-painted iron would yawn and swoop it's arc overhead, but we didn't look up until we got to the other side.

We would be made to look up eventually of course. Dickhead would always climb over the top of the frame. We didn't really know who he was, just that he always seemed to follow us home. He would stop at the top and wiggle his arse to symbolise his victory at reaching the summit of his weekly conquest. We watched him every week, never tiring of waiting for his potential demise.

Many's the time I had walked through TIE on my own. On Fridays usually. Fridays were *priviledged* nights. We would all walk from our various corners of the city and converge on the club. Brandishing our shiny, black VIP cards, we'd get in for a quid and proceed to get shitfaced on half pints of cheap whiskey and coke. Saturdays were different - they were *anybody* night - which usually meant students and the odd townie who had wandered dangerously away from the 
zone. The door price tripled, space was short and we bought 5 drinks at a time because we couldn't be arsed to queue at the bar. Those were the nights when we had our corner - *Goth's corner* (it's still there now) - with a good half a metre of personal space surrounding it.

Anyway, Dickhead never fell off the bridge, a few others fell into the water and didn't fair so well, but I was never around to see it (must've happened on the few saturdays we copped out and got a taxi home)

It's Friday and we're crawling through TIE's alleys again. I've already lost my dress in a *who can walk in a straight line on top of the petrol station wall* competition. It was latex and I'd fallen off the aforementioned wall half way across, snagging the hem. That's the thing when you're dressed in two pieces of rubber that are glued together crudely at the sides - one wrong move and you're fucked! I can only describe the moment my dress left my body, with the speed of a deflating, untied balloon, as a right *Carry On!*  Cackles of laughter and wolf whistles ensued from my good friends, with the odd "OOOOoooh Saucy!" thrown in for good measure. I stood up boldly, dressed only in my underwear and a pair of pointed, heeled, buckled boots. The boots were the sort that had every type of fastening known to man on them - eyelets, zips, hooks, press-studs, laces & buckles - I regularly slept in them after a good night out as my drunken mind could not coordinate my body sufficiently enough to be able to take them off before I passed out on my bed. After muttering such things as "Bugger", "fuck" and "bollocks" a few times, I proceeded to wrestle Dean's shirt from his back. Like a true gentlemen he surrendered his Army & Navy Stores standard issue and I threw it on quickly, wrapping it around myself and folding my arms in way that was partly a defensive gesture and partly a "fuck me it's parky!" move. I held my head high and stomped (*cough* staggered) off, further into TIE. I can still see myself indignantly disappearing into the mists at 3am.

TIE didn't scare us, it should have done, being the creepiest place to be at stupid o clock, but that didn't matter to us. It seemed to protect us and guide us. It appeared to shift and change to accommodate our needs. Eventually we'd emerge through the other side on to the main road and the cold would hit us harshly, from out of nowhere. We would pack ourselves into our favourite take away for chip butties. Run by elderly women and cheaper than anywhere in the world, it was perfect. We could satiate our alcohol induced hunger and warm through before we started the rest of our journey home. Many is the time I would cover the counter in ketchup, being unable to focus on my buttie and missing it completely. The women would just look over and *Tsk* with sly smiles and one of them would amble over to clean it up.

I'm sitting on a wall looking at that takeaway right now. It's not *there* anymore - just an old, faded shop sign and a few pieces of hardboard covering the windows remain - but I can see it as it was.

TIE sits quietly behind me, still breathing, reminding me of the last time I felt invincible and how long ago that time was.

Copyright Charlotte Sometimes aka SRWB 2010

Thoughts on trying to find you

This is where I want to be
There is no certainty here
Just ambiguity and mist
A Wonderland with more of a dark side
SIN-chronized thoughts bring us here
into the nebula - frozen, shifting droplets
listening, edging forward with
senses other than sight - quiet
There are ill-defined shapes
amongst questionable vapours
The ground is never the same
Most irregular and difficult
All self-imposed of course
It's just a flash, a moment
They are playing that damned song again
and we haven't much time to find each other
I'm always wondering if the view up there,
at the summit, would make it all easier
After a while, and a lot of shuffling
I turn away from the sounds
and the feel of you
Aiming for the clearer perspective at the top
A good look at the mirage
so I can pin it down and remember
But I always seem to lose you
with that same, fatal, ridiculous decision
I need to go again, and wait
for the next time we both think
of the same thing at the same time
and sometimes just one glimpse means more
than all the time in the world


~ Charlotte Sometimes aka SRWB 2010