Friday, 8 February 2013


Batten the hatches, close down the doors,
Wind up the windows and tape down the floors,
Lock up for lockdown, swivel a key,
Scaffold the ceiling generously,

Light bulbs like onions spin hazardous wool,
Into lines of ‘tales are too eventful’,
Tables and chairs are not so alike,
As to fit in the space between shadow and light,

If paper makes parachutes, I’m okay to crash,
Into wires and lenses, from take-offs to ash,
Colours of cuboids stand solid, robust,
But they sink in the oceans with lies and mistrust,

Piles of peppers set fire to ice,
While dust rains through archways, if words might suffice,
Brainwaves and centuries alike and alone,
Within earsight and eyeshot, complexion takes throne,

Notable spotlights burn out in the skies,
Sautéing galaxies and pigs who pass by,
Calligraphic sentences to prison and life,
Are why they aspire to bullet or knife,

If poorly sliced vision offers sense of regret,
Then my clearly cut intake performs as offset,
Letters and numbers, painting concept,
Give me hours of practice, so I’m ever inept,

Broken guitar strings can always be played,
If numbers of equality can always be made,
And while rubber ducks swim in kitchenware sinks,
There’ll be locks drawn on doors with India ink,

And noting the tone of this graphite voice,
Comes a pen with an eagle to signify choice,
Beneath layers of lifetimes and deathtimes galore,
Sits a torn strip of sellotape on travertine floor.

I am struggling over the meaning of most of this, and a part of me just wants to sit and analyse it verse by verse, line by line, and word by word. I wrote the first line; the rest followed with relative ease, and little attention to what I was actually putting down there. "Hoorah! for fun and not revising things~" 

1 comment:

  1. WOW! I love this. :D I wish I could write poetry like this. I love your brilliance Taia!