Wednesday, 14 April 2010

Untitled free verse on a definite subject - death

I felt like sitting in the corner of a darkened room,
with lillies and a balloon, to watch it drift until
it bounces against artex sharpness; to burst?
or float back down over time - shrunken and lost
It was not to be, not allowed
I am here, in a gladrag black-stained reality
Worshipping your demise with tears and sobs
that intermittently accept the kind words
with polite nods that say I cannot speak right now
Only neologisms can save this day
in another language -
far away.

The swathed silk of a death-box is echoed in this makeshift space
Intoxication in a tent, made for the stink of remembrance
Suffocated gatherings; all exits hidden amongst rancid fabric

The playlist is you and you alone -

Will the grave markers be side by side?
Engraved with hearts and doves;
maybe embedded with a small, gold frame
The ones that keep your photographs safe from the cold
whilst telling strange visitors that this was once so real
Or maybe they will hutch you both up in one hole?
eternally fighting for room (and the duvet)
a dual feed for flora, thriving on putrid juices
and rotting flesh.

The lights blow, the satin billows, glasses shatter
the mourners cease their morbid revelry
A wisp of something flies, it becomes dark and cold
I start to smile, I knew you would come
Never one to miss a party, especially your own
The drapes are dragged and torn
your guests cower in the missing corners
their faces morphing into true-form; monstrous hatred
A hurricane rips through this fake parlour
It rampages against the non-existent boundaries of grief
"Have fun" appears, dripping in blood-red graffiti
from the presentation stage - the focus ... the pyre
Your memorial table is cleared within seconds
The carefully wrapped tokens of patronising sympathy
crash to the felt-boarded floor, mingling with party trash

A gentler light enters (stage left), calming your hateful storm
Facing each other, cancelling out their judgement
You picked her up and left then, forever
 - after that final "fuck you"
with an angry last shout; you are gone
I told them you wouldn't like those flowers
but they didn't listen;
so I'll stand before your lolly-stick cross
underneath my see-through umbrella, in the rain
Remembering the time we cremated hope, very quickly

~ Copyright Charlotte Sometimes aka SRWB 2010

Sunday, 11 April 2010

Apocalypse With Stoli

If I alone were to sit here
waiting for rivers to run red
and earth to crack underfoot
I would simply drown myself
in narcotic slumbers
and Stolich-nay-aaah elite

"Smooth like an alibi"

Staying alive would be far
from my madding mind
Stillness and drunken rambling
protecting all known secrets
clutched as a desperate shaken fist
until the tragic end of days

"Everyone is someone's secret"

But I find myself a protector
of more than secrets (and lies?)
Nothing to do but turn them away
and wait; whilst tightly defending
a cherubs thoughts, in a moment
of realisation and death

~Copyright Charlotte Sometimes aka SRWB 2010

Thursday, 8 April 2010

Navigating The Genuine Article

Maps are marked harshly, as heads are emptied gladly
Pin points of a micro-climate; a few spinning globes
amongst an existence weaved and rejected
History is drawn with fine, blended pencil strokes
A technique that brings a photographic quality
A snap shot of the intricate detail, framed in the past
Each one unique and wanting; trying and so very vain
Everyone tries - in some small, cataclysmic way - to breathe
Often an after-thought on their way home; checking out
Some are numb and void with the effort of grasping
Others carry a die-cast torch with guilded, virulent flame
through wayward streets of rediscovered places
Shifts of new mountains emerge from the cracked crust
of unknown, simmering dangers; shockingly repeated
Retrospect with new packaging; new life
Twenty percent extra... free
If you'll just bring out your dead, to trade it's overused corpse
in alleyways of little worth and promises in kind
Reality will NOT be an illusion

~Copyright Charlotte Sometimes aka SRWB

Sunday's Lament


I could sit here, waxing and waning
All the day through; the dark turns my head too much
Nothingness is distracting, but I continue to stare
and wonder when it is coming; contemplation
of comets and nebulas in sinful silence
A reflection of what has been

Quiet times, sitting at the other end of the house
instead of hosting and smiling as I should have done
Listening to cracked-out voices in the dead of night
and wishing I had made more of the things around me
watching them fade and disappear, in corners of eyes
that are desperate to hold on, yet realise too late

The old player cites a well-known song
It starts with such a familiar tone
Reminds me of cleaning for dinner parties
always a whiskey on the side of paprika scented rooms
and the background beat of the vacuum cleaner
Oatmeal carpets scrubbed to the left - then right

What was I feeling in that split second?
The peaceful moment before tragedy struck
and life was forever changed; shattered
It seems such a time ago now, since I began pulling corners
Yet yesterday looms large in it's wake

There is much staining to be contemplated
and scrubbed at; wrung out and soaked
I haven't written anything; I sat with pen in hand for years
Nothing happened; there is then and ... there is now
I need to figure out the inbetween
and pour a Sunday's lament from my soul

~ Copyright Charlotte Sometimes aka SRWB 2010


I have cross-hatching and mountains in my hands
X marks the spot on the other side
I can see my life foretold and already spent
Epithelial surface patterns don't lie
How strange that they should ask to visit
There of all places
Today of all days.
We could leave, lingering in locations that fit
(and inspire)

dreaming eratically and rough-shod under stars
Upon cogitated hilltops; over vertigo-inducing heights
that blur my sight and make the first layer of paint
the most difficult one to cover; a re-creation in detail
The picture, hastily drawn, is in it's simplest form
and I feel a need to scrawl over the top
"Leave them kids alone!"
Thus taking away it's innocence
leaving only the slogans of cynicism
to explain it's reputation.

~ Copyright Charlotte Sometimes aka SRWB 2010

Must Try Harder (and fail again)

I ponder through threads of absent times
Feel my failure burn and leave it's mark
Puckered trails of tournaments lost
It is not in the winning; taking part?
I tried and I stumbled.

FAIL - verb
to be unsuccessful
Founder, deteriorate, blunder, let down

Not strong enough to prevent the fall
A train on it's track, rumbling and rambling
on and on
and ON...
I plunge myself into the proper way
yet these feelings run free
and in counting the rhythm I cringe
and abandoned my efforts.

I saw this coming; head first
A crack in the earth I couldn't outrun
Turf splitting and swallowing it's prize
It seems a little off-the-wall
That I might not want to see, nor glimpse
A warning; a knowing - a calm surface
and it all ends as I have followed
Never a smooth recipe
Turning my back again as I...
... blend, rinse, repeat
- and agitate.

Dancing in indian cotton and gauze
Makes me think of Little Wing
and Hendrix lulling our paths to sleep
Greener times beneath our naked feet
Soft and unwavering with comfort
The stabbing of blades in grass ignored
amongst swaying beads and willow trees.

As the water falls back; to furnish
and swell it's scarred bed, in relief
I have a distant memory, so faint
of the disturbance below
I am survived and sustained
a long time, unscathed.

Yet there are small reflections
of distracted light behind, and beneath
If I could seize them; make them stay
I would explore their virtue
This downfall is of my own fashion
Styling overhead and all around
Stunned into silence with questions
Finally and inevitably
Prevention is not always a cure
for  endurance.

~ Copyright Charlotte Sometimes aka SRWB 2010


Bruised energies combine just here
The background is not yet livid
nor justly calm; amidst all places
Censored lives unlock (click)
Substantial psyche entwine
and we are met here: now, then, long ago
Absent fragments reconciled
in love, warmth and laughter
Nothing will be the same
Yet everything will be better
There is no beginning; no end in sight
Squinting to view blurred lines
No obscurity; clarity and vision perfect
Hilarity and comfort sugars bitterness
Found only in adverse corners
We are the first and the last
The always in between all
I look over at you and think
Saviour, Liberator
You ...

... Me.
~ Copyright Charlotte Sometimes aka SRWB 2010