My Muse has flown...

So no poetry from me...

I had a feeling She was ready to flee because her visits became fewer.
Awful shame really but I can't say I'm surprised and, as I'm so fond of saying,...One can't serve two masters.
Being consumed by domesticity then trying to write verse is almost impossible. Managed it for a good while but now cakes have won out.
I find myself turning to food sites rather than poetry sites. A case of growing up or a case of finding more satisfaction in ganache and meatballs? Whatever. It's over.

I knew it was all change when, on Saturday night, after a bit of an upset, I couldn't put finger to keypad and by so doing allay myself of the pumping rage which had me gurgling blood. So, I had a cup of tea, and went early to bed.

It's a bloody shame though because penning poems has given me a lot of pleasure, but we move on and on to other things, other lifelines, different hobbies pop their heads up.
So a huge hug to my Muse, all 6ft of her, no more will I see your voluminous hair catching the grey papery webs in the corner of my glorious book lined office.

On my mind today other than loss... mini Brioche tins...

Room. Poem

In your room without colour
my blood tints the walls
its rich virginal paste
perfectly spread

and in your room without life
my presence necessitates
action
and so with your neck tethered to beams
I dance
swirling down like a shot paradise bird
I land upon your face

Now your room is rainbow

A quick note before lights out

....With lasers for wings my creative angels sped to me tonight.
Laying at my right hand a few lines, then, without fanfare, leaving.

I'd like to stay up tonight, all night, tapping out what's inside, but it's darkening so I'll lie awake in bed dreaming.

Goodnight

Playing Dice With Words

Washed, ready for beddybize
cleansed
but deep down, a sooty stop-out

Praying, head bent and sorry
beseeching
but down deep, unrepentant really

Masterminded, words, chess and water
learning
but deep and buried
jovial patting-of-backs partying soul sister

Solitary, night star gazing slug saving
serene
but down deeper, burnt with reckless day star exposure

Holding a gentle old hand
comforting
but under a loose ring of gold, wrath

Singing, miming
make believing drama queen
but inside a screaming bopper who hires invisible dancers

Woman, cake goddess and sink scrubber
pink for girl, blue for boy
but under perfect icing and puddles of disinfectant
a gollywogs lullaby and out-of-bounds vagina

Transparent, bleeding obvious
heart warming buddy
but beneath the halo boiling seething foam

Dignified, stately
knows when and how to speak
but crouching under a tight tongue a guttersnipe

Ladylike, gloves and high panties
knees clamped
but below the lacquered head
a sailor's vocabulary



Gosh that felt good.
Goodnight all.

Rock Sense: POEM

I swam through waves of dishonour to sleep with you
the slime getting caught in my hair
and then it scaled my face and I lost my sight
and yet still I swam to you

Over the end and at the edge of the pier
splinters ran through my feet
and when waving people ran for the guard
still I sat for you

White birds blasted,
their freedom cocky and sure,
and they screeched and laughed at the flightless sea lover
and as I chewed I spewed
my fingers bleeding
turning the blue sea mauve

Sucking over the wounds I trawled the shore
beating some pebbles to death

I was watched by British fools out for the day
stolid homely husbands complete in cheap clothes
putting up with dear wifey for the day

I swam through waves of dishonour because I liked your body and temper
but then waves travelled
taking me down
till I hit my head on some rock sense
and my eyes were bleached open
but smarted in agony
at a love deaded by drowning



Angela Norris

Shock: Poem

You shocked me with your vigour
unleashing in me passions only the unloved feel
yes you shocked me

And on the afternoon when every weather came
you tinkered with me
lifting up my stone white body with your manic mechanical hands
you tinkered with me
pulling away and peeling off layers of unused flesh
you kept bits, mementos for yourself
leaving me formless battered
without shape
I'd become unstructured

And all through an evening once
your excesses thrilled me open
and breaching me apart
I cried with lust like in a movie
drip drop drip drop drip drop
yes your excesses unwrapped me
allowing out and laying bare
all what was hidden

And then on an ordinary day I was abandoned
And so I wrote my own obituary
...She lived
and died of shock





Angela Norris

Blazing Underground: Poem

A blazing in my underground
shoots razor lights through the dark
their crystal sweetness
and shocking force
rockets the blandness of sadness
away

And all on a deep dark night
when babies sleep in fluff
and cats lie in the cinders
my arms stretch out
my heart screams up to
pinch the stars
alight

The blazing in my underground
coils and tightens till
my blood needs good release
and turning deaf
and turning blind
I give in and slip and slide

And all on a deep dark night
when single people in seaside towns
turn to radio four at nine
when noisy boys in a shed in Leeds
play war games with their neighbours
my hands reach down

The blazing in my underground
uncovers treasures in the dark
small hot pearls
simply strung by a far away man
fall through my hands
washing my fingers
like devilled Christmas toys.



Angela Norris

Moonwards. Poem

Bejewelled, you, the valiant king
steal a kiss
leaving me dull,
without my shine

Thunderous, you, the joker on stage
steal my tongue
deafening me with lion-hearted words

I whimper

Licking up tears
and
spent and unadorned
I gather myself in...


You, the chief, stroll on

As I turn my face moonwards
on the last night of my old life
my blisters burst
leaving me raw skinned but
respectable

My lips curve

Thunderous, I, the mistress
take what's mine
leaving you wishing,
without hope

Bejewelled, I, the woman on stage
fiddle with your heart
leaving you...


Angela Norris

Poem: DUSTY MIRROR

Dusty mirror what do you feel?
Slow foaming heartbeats of decaying blood
or
a frenzied fuck gilded happiness

Dusty mirror what do you see?
Sloping sour pale unbitten breasts
or
red, plate sized tits, chewed and spread

Dusty mirror what do you want?
A tangled strangled continuance
or
a life.


Angela Norris

Spark: Erotic Poetry

A spark flashed the sky
it isn't lightning she thought and dawdled back indoors
Yeah it's not lightning 'cos why should lightning come, come here she asked the wall.
And her flowered duvet though damp with tearstains felt snug like home up against her strained face
So she sucked it
What was the spark for she asked the pillow as her mascaraed eyes tried to focus
tried to see.

But as she pondered two stiff nipples she asked the mirror why a spark come
Why?
And then a screech come from a fox next door
was probably caught under the dividing fence
she wept into the hair brush
Should I go out into the ice and free its orange body
she asked his favourite lipstick, his perfume, his hand puppet
Wouldn't thank me she thought and stuck her fingers in her ears

Snow was coming down again, like confetti on a brides head and how, so she hummed the The Wedding March
Going from one side of the bed to the other side she wondered if the fox wouldn't be better off somewhere else like a big dark forest
It would be free to be a fox of the first order rather than a village fox fucking about with fences.

Ribbing her forehead with lines of consternation she asked the holy picture by the t.v. for one more spark
just so her night would be bright, even if just for a second


Angela Norris copyright

After Nine Poems

I saw you
your face gold and rich and without pain
without a tear
I saw you and I wept

You saw me
my face bleached dry by endless pain
by truth
You saw me and left

***********************************************


When the fantasy child slid down the slide
it was my screams of joy you heard
When the fantasy child drew a flower
it was my smile you saw
And when the fantasy baby bellowed
it was my heart which broke

******************************************************

Martin stood alone in his room
around him his money well spent
his spotless possessions a sign of perfection
he hasn't done badly at all.

When Martin lay in bed
alone but with someone by his side
his fears doubled
like the whiskey drink in his glass

As Martin drove his car to places he must go
his exhaustion told

So later Martin stood alone in his room
around him his money well spent
his homely set up
stifling him
he's hasn't done anything at all.

***************************************************************

Poetry

I've been struggling to write anything of worth lately, so these poems have come as a beautiful surprise.

When moonlight is the only light please don't turn off my night light
for that's when the dust settles
and its slow descent into my upset room
mirrors my own life
and being a creature of mild and delicate intelligence
I prefer not to be reminded.

****************************************************


I held your baby
like he held me
with tender strength and necessity

I kissed his head
like he sucked on me
with improper manners and joy

I love your baby
like I love you
with all of a plain woman's heart.

******************************************************


The Autumn leaves are still splendid
even when cold in the ignored gutter
even their bronzed veins look magical wedged in the humdrum drain

The girls Garden is still pretty
even when covered with an iced Winter cloth
its virginal blanket laying quietly and asleep waiting for the fresh boy called Spring

The bruised singing woman is still feminine
even with puffed up eyes and cracks
her weak beau failing to dismember the chords of her sweet-scented soul.

The Man lost in the cold of her arms still feels like a man on fire
even when his gentle man ness is shoved away
his good big head and screaming yearning chest
boom noisily
in mighty defiance.



Copyright Angela Norris

The Night Timerman. Poem

The Night Timerman invades my room
his strength mangling my heart
so kicking and crying
but with spillings seeping down
I collapse at his feet
and give in

The knuckled hands of the Night Timerman
reach down for the old girls head
so breathing like the dying
but punch-drunk with lust
I suckle his boots
and give in

The arching back of the Night Timerman
says he likes how she shines his boots
so biting with vigour
and swallowing his lace
I take on the Night Timerman
and win.


Copyright Angela Norris

After Nine Poem. Sexed Up Room

In the stifling air of a sexed up room
the lovers examine each other
he looking at her teethed red throat
she stringing out spunk
they are quite at one

On the cracked up walls in the afternoon room
the bedstead bangs out of key
its thunderous sound a thud thud thud
chucks family frames way off the wall
he the master then delivers with baton erect
swearing words like fuck ride and mother
it's the performance of his career
she the ladylover singing with operatic notes
yells till the fat lady comes

Silent with relief
they smooth out brows
each hair so fantastic, precise
going over their terrains with contented hands
they trace imaginary countries
this is where my froggy lives
and this is how I eat her
and this is where my horsey stands
and this is how I ride him

they laugh very loud so the neighbours can hear
then whack and smack like bongo drums
ample wet bellies and cheeks
but fear not
little bits of remnant sex dry quick in the sexed up room
and looking up at the cobwebbed corner
they examine each other no more.

After Nine Poem

Impaled on you
my icebound heart melts
letting out ruttish boiling water
we slip'n'slide

till the ordinary day comes
and we must dry up
and go our way.


*ruttish: sensual, wanton, lustful

Words Are Not Enough..Poem

When words are not enough
I'll pull out my heart and throw it at your feet
there is no other way

When my heart gets killed
I'll tear out my tongue and wrap it tight around yours
there is no other way

When you are left speechless
I'll be quiet and wise and take you quickly to my bed


copyright Angela Norris

Night Dances

My window is ajar
the three a.m. wind splitting my curtains apart
their dance shuffling the stillness in the blue of my empty room
And so rising I orchestrate a dead-of-night rumba
and dancing with the owls
I screech

copyright Angela Norris

Faith in You....poem

Faith in you, and tonight's dragons are made impotent
Waiting for you, my endless sunless tunnels cave in
Wanting you, I linger in the dust

I have you

And a sparkling woman rises
bedecked with dragon's teeth for jewels
My dusty sight been made perfect
a parched and loveless self
made moist

Believe in me.

Don't Go....Poem

.......And if I say 'don't go' will you pinion me with weighty hands?