Making Sweet Poetry

maybe we can write some poetry together...

your pen with my ink...
wet, vivid, rhythmic...
every line a clinch,
every word a kink
in the sheet
writing in

sweet synchronised

successive strokes
sucking assonance
down our throats
licking each others
metaphors
funky like open pores
we pause
to change the iambic
position
on the poetry we're making together

take off your lid
please
and slide with ease
your calligraphy nib
deep into my ink well
now scrawl your verse
use every vowel to spell
your pleasure first:
aaeee, eey, iyyy, ooohhh, uuuooo
inject hard constantans too
fffff, hhhrrrr, cccckkk
me,

you
sure write good lines

of simile
this poetic revolution
will not be televised.

Wait!
Before you flip this paper over
to inscribe on it’s reverse
and leave your mark
of prosaic honour
let’s re-read that last verse
one more time, again
over
and over
and over
let me grip on to the pen

now it’s my turn to
write a libretto
let me hold the pen
just so,
as it’s smudging
my still wet characters
I better write faster
Change the tempo
Jot and scribble
In staccato
Words so
Frantic
Written in
Monosyllabics
only
Two
Words
Repeated
Together
Juxtaposed
To
the
subject
matter…

The rhythm slows
As limp hands hold
Flaccid pens
Words spent
Poem written and re-read
Sheets smoothed
Ruffled from
The fluid poetry making
We just done
And with proof reading
intent
Let’s smoke a cigarette.

You

I've been in love with you
The thought of you
The smile of you
The sight of you
The moment you
Came into view
I've wanted to
Be with you
Be loved by you
Touched by you
The hand of you
The man of you
The soul of you
The whole of you
Instead what's true
I get grains of you
The scraps you threw
I devour those too
In the hope that you
Would follow thru
With more of you
I adore you
Even thou you
Say you don't want me too
You only want to
Keep me in view
Just close enough
To touch me too
But not enough
For me and you
To be anything true
So my soft spot for you
Gets deeper to
The point that I
Am a fool for you
I can see it too
But what's a girl to do
When she's been in love with you
Since the moment you
Came into view
Have written prose for you
To exorcise my mood
Have so many it's true
Could make a book on you
And still you choose
To only pursue
Me as a casual scr-
And I let you
In the hope that you
Will fall in love with me too
But you never do
I wonder if
The reality of you
Would taste as sweet
As the fantasy of you
So my last line to you
Should read "I'm thru"...

But that's not true
And I won't lie to you
Or hide from you
Cos I fucking love you.

2ULM

Deborah Harper © 25/07/07

The World Vote

Who sees
When another
Wannabe
Parades their
Arse
On TV?
The World Sees.
And is ready
To please
The arse
Who needs
This ravenous
Validity
And will make
Themselves broke
To vote
And prolong the
Joke
Of this perpetual
Fallacy
Of 30 second
Celebrity.

But does
The World Vote
To stop young hands
Slitting another
Young throat?
Can’t fix
What ain’t broke
As this
Chain of command
Has been doing
The route
For centuries.
The World knows
The truth
But is side blinded
To the root
The cause
And effect
Of Systematic
Neglect
Of school reports
That project
Young black boys
As a threat
Then fail to
Protect
Their needs
And good intent

The family structure
Too
Is black and blue
From generations
Who bore the
Scars of
Emasculation
Only had mummy
To do
What some daddies
Never learnt to.
Thus leaving her to
Guide her sons thru
The minefield
Of manhood
When she herself
Stood
Still, recovering from
A minefield
Detonation
Wounded, she
Leans on
The State
As a husband.
Out of the minefield
Into a Nuclear Station.

Yet she Sojourns on
‘Cause the Truth
Is she has
Ambition
And Sheer
Determination
To get her
Young son
And his brother
Safely to the
Adult border
Around Trident,
Court Orders,
Stop and Search
Micky D drive-thru orders
Bling cultures
A myriad of
Freeloaders and
Other people’s lustful
Daughters
And sons
The ones with guns
The misogynistic ones
Who only see
Arse and tits
On a hoe
And a bitch
And slow motioned
Hunnies, licking
Parted lips
With breasts that
Shimmer
With glitter;
In a pum-pum printa
That wines
On hot-housed hips
Portrayed in many a
Music video
Shit.
Where MTV is
God
And the Devil is
The Apprentice
Discovery
A National Geographic
Documentary
In this negated
Tragedy
Where the only
Escape from reality
Is to be
A wannabe
On National TV
Where the World
Will then see
Their seemingly ravenous
Need
For Validity.

Vote please.

Deborah Harper © 22/07/07

Her picture speaks to me

(This was a gift to me from a friend... enjoy)

just a look got me wondering how would it be if it was for me.
her smile , big grin makes me warm inside
is it because she is happy to see me ?
her lips so full and shiny are they wanting to kiss me ?
her eyes so gorgeous are they longing to view me ?
her cheeks so full of joy,
are they longing to rest on my chest ?
her hair and head
are they longing for me to caress them ?
her nose so perfect a compliment to her face,
does it want to smell me? her ears so cute,
is it waiting for me to nibble them ?
her neck has goosebumps,
is it anxious for me to lick it ?
thats what i see when i look at her picture
and it speaks to me .

By Danger Man
For li'l old me (thanks Danger!)

Data Footprint

Every time I sign
Or uncheck to decline
Register completely free
Subscribe to an RSS-feed
Download an iTune
Or hit the back button too soon
Select an IM theme pack
Opt-in for free call back
Click on a search result
Hit Red on the Sky remote
Go abroad with my mobile phone
Switch the Bluetooth on
Vote online for my favourite celebrity
I leave a trail of data emissions activity

How can I offset
This data footprint?
Eroding my privacy
Compromising my identity
What if I switched off the opt-out box
After each and every ‘secure’ sign-up?
Would that be enough to stop
The digital age double bluff
Or am I already
Sneered in the World Wide Web conspiracy?
Can I ever reverse the damaging effects
Of carrying out online price checks
That build up a history
Of my shopping infidelities.

Maybe I should choose
To buy a ticket and not use
The TFL conveniency
Of the Oyster card registered to me
Then would it be enough
To stop Big Bruvva from catching up.

And damn the lure of user generated
Content I voluntarily created
Which seductively whispered in my ear
“It’s OK! All your friends are here”
I feel like Eve
So naïve
As I bite on the apple
Of the data capture tree

So I Facebook hypnotically
Uploading my life’s chronology
Like they ain’t already got enough on me
Polluting my own personal security
With pictures and pokes
And networks and notes
Divulging data in my real name
Things that should never be in the public domain

Can I recycle data detection?
Offset with data protection?
Perhaps.
In fact
I am the one who breached
The Act
I thought would keep
Sacred my data identity
I am the emitter
A Global data warming player hater
All the same
Don’t hate the player
Hate the game.

Deborah Harper © 21/07/07