My Poetry: Strange Shells

Turkish beaches bear a strange shell
Blood on the stones and blood in the sea
Foreign bodies lay still in Agean breeze
Strange shells laying on popular beach

Pastoral scene for the gallant West
Scent of salt-water wind blows fresh
Stolen breath from within life vest
Then the sudden smell of bloated flesh

Here lays infant shell for gull to pick
For sea to claim, tide to lick
For the sun to rot, for West to muse
Here is a strange and bitter truth.

Poem based on Abel Meeropol's song 'Strange Fruit' popularised by Bille Holiday After seeing this story:
http://www.dailymail.co.uk/news/arti...ish-coast.html

My Poetry: Rush Hour Crush

Starved of kindness
We turn a smile
Into a fantasy
As we fill the minutes
On the rush hour commute,
A shared cookie becomes
The plot to a Renee Zellweger movie,
The packed carriage
The setting for a story
To melt hearts at our wedding.

“In a city of millions
Where is my Mr Wright
Perhaps its you?
Tall guy with the coffee
And a cute toosh
On the 6:40 District line
Who looks like the hero
From a Holywood blockbuster.
Let me take you out
Where the lightings just right
To hide my wine complexion
Honed from Friday nights
With a glass and my cat D'arcy”

"Perhaps it's destiny
Which brought us here
You dressed for success
Me in the grey suit
Coffee stain on the breast
Where is my Freya?
Could it be you?"

“Petite blond with red lips
And Betty Boo bag
Who smirks each morning
As I flirt behind the Metro

If you're reading
This page fifteen plea
I'm really not creepy,
That's just how I smile.
Drink sometime?”

So why be coy
Say hi, don't just grin
And pretend it's a win
For the shy and the needy.
Start the new-year
With a date, then perhaps
Who knows two more
You could make your way
Into each others head.

My POetry: Let Beauty Be Mine Once More (swear once)

Who is this man
Staring back?

Who doesn't understand
The past lives he sees
In the strange lines
Around his eyes,

In the corner of his mouth
Pulled by the gravity
Of empty days.

How his craving fingers
Reach for her.

She, a ghost from yesterday,
Haunting his today
As he folds sandwiches
Into metal blocks;
In the CDs stacked in silence
Mocking, like old photo album;
In crackling fire which roars
In his spine when frustration hits.

Who is this man
Who sits beside me?

A stranger whose ego
Tells him thinner, wealthier,
More success is better.

He speaks in tongues
Which fork the decaying land
In which my heart is planted;
But the land is dead, hollow seeds
Wait for germination by
Diseased ants with flaccid cocks;
My soul hibernates, till the day
Of my execution,
When my torn body can return
To the worm licked soil
Where ancestors remain.
This is me; the I who rests
On my shoulder, is he.

Who is this man
Who longs to escape his body?

How can I manage her absence
On days when the blue is bleached
From cold sky?

I long for her, for her kiss
To warm dun blood.
Embrace me, embrace me, embrace me
Nocturnal witch cast your spell
Make happiness and sadness,
My mauve smile and rouge frown, merge
Like spilt water colours.
Kiss me, and drain the ink blood
From my veins
With your golden brown mouth,
Kiss me and let beauty
Be mine once more.