Chutney Girl
No one can sleep in a house made of sour
and the chance of me sleeping gets less by the hour.
I'm a little green onion all trapped in a jar.
A chilli wrapped relic from my myanmar.
Then I can't sleep, I'm falling apart,
simmered in time and gingered folk art.
Chutney girl has pickled her heart.
And there's always a limit, you canot preserve,
you cannot pretend it int what we deserve.
I crack like the bottles on midnight kid's shelf.
Vinegar shrivels. I'm jamming myself.
Pick when they're green, fruit never went red.
We put it with sugar and boiled it instead.
I'll never go bad but I'll never be ripe.
Perfectly sweet was never my type.
Vinegar keeps but it comes at a price.
Saving the useless was always my vice.
Here I am keeping but no one has come,
Cos no one likes pickles, he'll never succumb.
But I can keep, but by falling apart,
simmered in time and gingered folk art.
Chutney girl has pickled her heart.
Monday, 15 September 2008
Wednesday, 18 June 2008
Isabel
It occured to Isabel that she had unfortunately, inconveniently, fallen in love. She could not pinpoint the precise moment that she had realised this fact, perhaps it was the rainy morning when he had left her at almost midday to sink into the sheets hoping that it was the beginning, or the first time she cried because he didn't come out when he said he would. Maybe it was even as far back as the first time she saw him after their long Summer seperation and became suddenly overwhelmed by the perplexing desire to kiss him. Whatever the origin of these feelings, however, their nature was certain. Somehow the void, or indeed the fine line, between sister-like love and falling into love had been bridged, and Isabel found her heart to be in the process of being ruthlessly torn apart by her best friend.
She was sure that there was no intenton on his part to torment her, although he must have been aware of the potential result of allowing himself to fall into bed with her at opportune moments. He had stated so many a time, and she had no reason to believe to the contrary and Isabel was convinced, with fairly good reason, that he was even more unaware as he was of her feelings, of his own. It was not, however, that she had been able to conceal her own feelings from so a good a friend. Indeed, she felt that it was fitting that he should be made acutely aware of her own internal breakages were something, not in order to inspire guilt, but in the knowledge that had any other man been the breaker, she would have been equally eager to open her hurts to him, and also in the vague hope that the reason for his lack of reciprication was a lack confidence in her romantic regard for him.
She was sure that there was no intenton on his part to torment her, although he must have been aware of the potential result of allowing himself to fall into bed with her at opportune moments. He had stated so many a time, and she had no reason to believe to the contrary and Isabel was convinced, with fairly good reason, that he was even more unaware as he was of her feelings, of his own. It was not, however, that she had been able to conceal her own feelings from so a good a friend. Indeed, she felt that it was fitting that he should be made acutely aware of her own internal breakages were something, not in order to inspire guilt, but in the knowledge that had any other man been the breaker, she would have been equally eager to open her hurts to him, and also in the vague hope that the reason for his lack of reciprication was a lack confidence in her romantic regard for him.
Friday, 6 June 2008
win win
I have decided, that I am in a win win situation. Either he was telling the truth when he said he wasn't ready for another relationship (understandable but frustrating, but then I clearly have nothing better to do with my life but hang around and wait, and at least I know that it isn't me that's the problem), or he and she will get together (goodness knows why he would even consider it, as not only is she irritating and immature but she has nothing special about her at all) which means that he lied to me and I get to bollock him for it.
Friday, 23 May 2008
Portrait Of An Unfinished Lady
Made of words I am.
When I was written, there was something,
a small thing left out.
A detail missing which makes me not
quite real. In their zeal, my Writer
gave me the ability to feel, however
something unidentifiable got left out
of the deal.
I was in a dream.
But when my dreamer woke up,
there was a part they forgot to tell.
An unimportant snippet,
as, after all, I was just a girl
from a dream
that began to unfurl
but left a piece behind.
I am Antoinette, L'infante, the incomplete,
the girl with the missing piece.
I watched the girl, the other one,
as she sat with the end of my puzzle,
sipping my drink,
I think she knew.
My gin, my essence, my sense,
all stolen in one shout to the bar.
I watched as half a girl
as she pretended to want you
even half as much
as me.
When I was written, there was something,
a small thing left out.
A detail missing which makes me not
quite real. In their zeal, my Writer
gave me the ability to feel, however
something unidentifiable got left out
of the deal.
I was in a dream.
But when my dreamer woke up,
there was a part they forgot to tell.
An unimportant snippet,
as, after all, I was just a girl
from a dream
that began to unfurl
but left a piece behind.
I am Antoinette, L'infante, the incomplete,
the girl with the missing piece.
I watched the girl, the other one,
as she sat with the end of my puzzle,
sipping my drink,
I think she knew.
My gin, my essence, my sense,
all stolen in one shout to the bar.
I watched as half a girl
as she pretended to want you
even half as much
as me.
Wednesday, 14 May 2008
sickness
Loving you makes me ill.
My throat is sore and I hope I got it from you.
I want to share these palpatations.
It makes me sick to think I'll never have you.
I drink music like toddies.
I drink music I was given by you.
Sleep won't come because I already daydreamt.
We can't be together and I not be with you.
I can't not be with you when we're together.
I want to be in the arms of you.
Hold me through my fever.
Tell me what's going on with you.
I have a fever,
and also I love you.
My throat is sore and I hope I got it from you.
I want to share these palpatations.
It makes me sick to think I'll never have you.
I drink music like toddies.
I drink music I was given by you.
Sleep won't come because I already daydreamt.
We can't be together and I not be with you.
I can't not be with you when we're together.
I want to be in the arms of you.
Hold me through my fever.
Tell me what's going on with you.
I have a fever,
and also I love you.
Tuesday, 13 May 2008
plain
Walking on the smooth parts of the road
I wish you could absolve of the accidents that hold me
to this agony that's really getting old.
You know what I would give you to be yours
and I don't quite know what you see when you hesitate to want me
and I want it back to how it was before.
I've no idea what let me lapse again
but when I knew where I was it was so much smoother because
I wasn't forcing me to take the blame.
A hot day and a cloudless, homeless night
makes me feel that I need the thing we agreed
quite simpy, plainly really wasn't right.
So love me please, oh god, please love me now
and you know what I would do to be walking home with you
just to love, so tell me, please just tell me how.
Friday, 2 May 2008
Mark
What Mark didn't know when he woke up far too early in the morning, before the clouds had come back out, and found her still lying next to him was that she'd already been awake for quite a long time. He tried not to look at her while she slept, but he couldn't help but notice that most of her hair had fallen out from her plait and some of it was caught on her mouth. In fact, she looked a mess, with most of her make up rubbed away and all of her clothes still on. He moved the piece of hair away and turned over. She took a deep breath in her sleep.
He didn't wake again until the alarm went off right by her ear. She didn't start, but shifted slowly, stretching a little and sighing before closing her eyes again. He hit the snooze and put his chin on her forhead, where it seemed it would fit, and it did. In his tar clogged, beer puddled, sleep soaked head, the thought was only gradually occurring to him that letting her sleep in his bed hadn't been the best of plans. He probably should have gone and slept somewhere else after she passed out, but then another thought nudged its way through the mess and it occurred to him that, all things considered, he hadn't slept so well in weeks.
The alarm went off again and he silenced it without even thinking. He put his arms around her and held her there, all folded up, and briefly hoped that she wasn't taking his affection to mean the wrong thing. He wanted to hold her, to have her, but he didn't want her. He had thought he did when he kissed her first but now he definately didn't want her. A fleeting cloud of nonsense made him wonder why, but he brushed it away because he didn't know himself.
He hoped she was alright. He had assumed she was once she started speaking to him again but it always bothered him that it had taken the accident to make that happen. It had taken the accident for her to be frank, and only now did he wonder whether she had expected something in return, but it didn't bother him. He had made himself clear, he thought.
The alarm rang again, and she did start this time. She sighed and rolled over onto her back. Mark buried his face in her shoulder and thought back to the night before, from when she had come into his room while everything else was going on downstairs. She'd sat at the end of the bed and said, 'We are okay, aren't we?' Mark had wondered what the right answer was, and then what the true one was and then decided to go for the latter, because it was the only one of the two he knew.
'I don't know,' he replied.
He knew she was drunk because she was using a lot of 'like's and making hand gestures that he could see even in the dark. He wished he could see her face. He also knew that she was drunk because she'd drunk a bottle of wine. He knew he was drunk because he'd had a lot of beer. She was asking what went wrong, telling him that she'd thought it was going to be fine. He never cought the reason why it wasn't fine, which was a shame, because he'd been wondering that himself, but by the time she'd finished talking he realised that she had assumed that she wasn't going to get any answers from him, which was a fair assumption because she usually didn't, and lain down next to him. He'd put his arms around her and realised that her face was slightly wet and all her hair was in it. He moved it all away and tucked it behind her ears. He wasn't annoyed that she was upset. She wasn't sobbing. If he'd taken them for tears of frustration, he probably would have been right.
He had wondered last night if he ought to tell her something to indicate what he felt about her, but when the alarm was going of again this morning, he realised how relieved he was that he hadn't. Besides, there were no words. She had begun to float the tips of her fingers back and forwards on his elbow and he felt himself drifting off again.
When the alarm went off the next time, he knew he was going to have to get up. She'd opened her eyes and was staring at the ceiling. Then she turned over to look at him and closed them. 'Do you have something on today then?' she said.
'Do you think I'd be getting up if I didn't?'
'Good point,' she replied, in the kind of derisive voice that she seemed to save for him.
He left her lying there and went to retrieve his jeans from the dirty washing, stopping to pick last night's shirt off the floor on the way. When he got back she was sitting cross legged on the bed putting her hair back where it belonged. 'I'll let you get dressed' she said and disappeared off down the stairs. Mark wondered whether anyone else would be up. He hoped that if they did then they wouldn't get the wrong idea about what had happened. As normal as it was for people to end up sleeping in their house, she had never done it before, and she wasn't the type to crash.
He found her in the kitchen boiling the kettle. He had to leave in five minutes and when she saw him all dressed she must have realised because she went into the hallway to put on her shoes and sat watching him on the bottom step while he packed his bag. Then when he was ready, she followed him out the door.
It was still early by his standards and the sun was still shining. It was warm and he was glad he hadn't had time to find a jacket. she rolled up the sleeves of her blouse and undid the top button. It was pale green and strictly speaking shouldn't have suited her. He hadn't thought much of it last night, but then there had been the girl in the skirt who was making eyes at him and ended up in his bed just before her.
When they reached the turning that he was taking, she hugged him and didn't say anything. Mark was glad that they no longer had to think of things to say to each other if they didn't want to. He walked away and looked once through the trees where he could still see her on the other road. She was holding the collar of the blouse to her nose and her eyes were shut.
He didn't wake again until the alarm went off right by her ear. She didn't start, but shifted slowly, stretching a little and sighing before closing her eyes again. He hit the snooze and put his chin on her forhead, where it seemed it would fit, and it did. In his tar clogged, beer puddled, sleep soaked head, the thought was only gradually occurring to him that letting her sleep in his bed hadn't been the best of plans. He probably should have gone and slept somewhere else after she passed out, but then another thought nudged its way through the mess and it occurred to him that, all things considered, he hadn't slept so well in weeks.
The alarm went off again and he silenced it without even thinking. He put his arms around her and held her there, all folded up, and briefly hoped that she wasn't taking his affection to mean the wrong thing. He wanted to hold her, to have her, but he didn't want her. He had thought he did when he kissed her first but now he definately didn't want her. A fleeting cloud of nonsense made him wonder why, but he brushed it away because he didn't know himself.
He hoped she was alright. He had assumed she was once she started speaking to him again but it always bothered him that it had taken the accident to make that happen. It had taken the accident for her to be frank, and only now did he wonder whether she had expected something in return, but it didn't bother him. He had made himself clear, he thought.
The alarm rang again, and she did start this time. She sighed and rolled over onto her back. Mark buried his face in her shoulder and thought back to the night before, from when she had come into his room while everything else was going on downstairs. She'd sat at the end of the bed and said, 'We are okay, aren't we?' Mark had wondered what the right answer was, and then what the true one was and then decided to go for the latter, because it was the only one of the two he knew.
'I don't know,' he replied.
He knew she was drunk because she was using a lot of 'like's and making hand gestures that he could see even in the dark. He wished he could see her face. He also knew that she was drunk because she'd drunk a bottle of wine. He knew he was drunk because he'd had a lot of beer. She was asking what went wrong, telling him that she'd thought it was going to be fine. He never cought the reason why it wasn't fine, which was a shame, because he'd been wondering that himself, but by the time she'd finished talking he realised that she had assumed that she wasn't going to get any answers from him, which was a fair assumption because she usually didn't, and lain down next to him. He'd put his arms around her and realised that her face was slightly wet and all her hair was in it. He moved it all away and tucked it behind her ears. He wasn't annoyed that she was upset. She wasn't sobbing. If he'd taken them for tears of frustration, he probably would have been right.
He had wondered last night if he ought to tell her something to indicate what he felt about her, but when the alarm was going of again this morning, he realised how relieved he was that he hadn't. Besides, there were no words. She had begun to float the tips of her fingers back and forwards on his elbow and he felt himself drifting off again.
When the alarm went off the next time, he knew he was going to have to get up. She'd opened her eyes and was staring at the ceiling. Then she turned over to look at him and closed them. 'Do you have something on today then?' she said.
'Do you think I'd be getting up if I didn't?'
'Good point,' she replied, in the kind of derisive voice that she seemed to save for him.
He left her lying there and went to retrieve his jeans from the dirty washing, stopping to pick last night's shirt off the floor on the way. When he got back she was sitting cross legged on the bed putting her hair back where it belonged. 'I'll let you get dressed' she said and disappeared off down the stairs. Mark wondered whether anyone else would be up. He hoped that if they did then they wouldn't get the wrong idea about what had happened. As normal as it was for people to end up sleeping in their house, she had never done it before, and she wasn't the type to crash.
He found her in the kitchen boiling the kettle. He had to leave in five minutes and when she saw him all dressed she must have realised because she went into the hallway to put on her shoes and sat watching him on the bottom step while he packed his bag. Then when he was ready, she followed him out the door.
It was still early by his standards and the sun was still shining. It was warm and he was glad he hadn't had time to find a jacket. she rolled up the sleeves of her blouse and undid the top button. It was pale green and strictly speaking shouldn't have suited her. He hadn't thought much of it last night, but then there had been the girl in the skirt who was making eyes at him and ended up in his bed just before her.
When they reached the turning that he was taking, she hugged him and didn't say anything. Mark was glad that they no longer had to think of things to say to each other if they didn't want to. He walked away and looked once through the trees where he could still see her on the other road. She was holding the collar of the blouse to her nose and her eyes were shut.
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