Ideas for poems...
Porridge sweetened by teardrops
The Eternal planner


Being cooked today:
Beef Cobbler
Lemon pudding and custard
Hazelnut Buns

Being pondered this afternoon:
Changes.

:)

Bee Watch: Light Hearted Poetry

I saw a bee but it didn't see me
so I watched as it hovered
Up and around making that sound
the fat little bee dived
from flower to leaf
up top to beneath
I watched the stinger dance

His graceful darts
and swooping moves
like brush strokes in the air
Then
Stopped frozen
he set himself tight just hanging there
ecstatic wings a-whipping

I saw a bee but he didn't see me
and if he had he'd have seen
a sweet smelling female
with nothing on
cemented over the sink

A Regular Man. Poem

Impenetrable he thought he was till
his armour of years was shot through and through
Inviolable he thought he was till
his staid old heart was poked and taunted
Impervious to love he thought he was till
his face got pale and he wept

Razed to the dust on a day like no other
the big man swallowed some truth
and it tore round his soul like a little child in the sea


Overcome with shock he become transformed
his armour of years turned invisible

Sending Whispers: Poetry

I love you
You I love
Sending plated gold whispers
down the line
I listen for you

I want you
You I want
giving me a hundred minutes
in your every hour
I clock watch for you

I love you
You I love
creasing the immaculate
with your thunderous hands
I shout a mouth of obscenities

I need you
You I need
Supplying rushing sharp air
for all my life
I suck for you

You
you look at me
Me you see
waiting patiently
in your shadow

you follow me

I love you

Delights, Nietzsche and a Poem

On Friday I wrote about my charity shop delights.
And here are a couple of pictures...


I love collecting quotes and here's one I found yesterday.
"A subject for a great poet would be God's boredom after the seventh day of creation".
Friedrich Nietzsche


'Pleased with the stars' God said, stretching his almighty frame over His heavenly armchair..
And as He watched the night come
He wondered what next.

I mean, how would he top this fantastic week of work?
He was never going to eclipse the past few immaculate days however hard he tried. His creation of all things beautiful was his piece de resistance, his magnum opus and creating the perfect world is the pinnacle of all artists.
He achieved that.
He might as well stop right now.

And so what next for the Great Man?
Reading?
Wishing He was somewhere else?
Toying with the weather?
Or just lying back feeling chuffed?
After all a week of mountain building, light making, water production, beast bombardment and laying green green grass was a great idea. And like all things magnificent, they impact, stun and then depart.

And so as He slumbered, His hands split and cracked, He dreamt of what could be.
Lions playing footsie with lambs,
Women being good to men,
Children being children until they're not.
Men standing upright.
Caravans, huts, caves resounding to the clash of milk cups instead of beer glasses.
Food on tables, arms open, ovens burning.
Little people with unscarred frilly hearts living amongst tall trees.

But then He had a fitful sleep and saw
Hungry people singing Hallelujahs in towns with no water, no justice
Homeless people with broken backs walking that extra mile.
Writers committing atrocities in the name of art.

God shifted and tutted
Overturned on his cloud and cried
And awoke resigned and bored.

And so he left us in the dark
and our world shook.

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

Poem: My Darling

As I try to put into words the break down of my heart, I see snowflakes falling.
Their fragility matching my own.
To feel adrift in the season of joy must surely make one's heart bleed.
What save love, can stop this torrent?
And who save myself, can ease this pain?
And yet as I am engulfed by this fever, my body and soul cry out to only you.
My darling my darling my darling



copyright Angela Norris