1. |
Opposites Don't
02:50
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She said: I’m a loose cannon;
An unopened yoghurt pot,
past its sell by date and full of gas!
He said: I’m not.
I’m a matchstick model replica
of something from the past;
I take ages to assemble
but I’m not built to last.
She said: Oh, I know….
what you mean;
I’ve crashed, I’ve burned, I’ve splintered,
and I’ve vented my spleen;
I’m a full throttle talker,
it would take Murray Walker
to do the commentary
on the documentary
about me.
He said: Oh, should we order food now?
She said: Yes, I could eat a horse.
He said: Oh, I’m a vegan.
She said: I was on the sauce
last night; I’ve got a mean hangover
and a raging appetite.
He said: I just drink ‘eau’ you know, water;
I’m a tad faddish;
I like alfalfa sprouts and radish;
saltless, GM free, organic;
can’t touch Indian or Hispanic
or anything exotic; I’m on anti-biotics
and I’ve got a touchy tract;
it won’t tolerate lact-
ose.
She said: Oh, I know, I’m just the same;
I can’t tolerate tractors
or life in the slow lane;
I’m an urban girl at heart;
the only time I’ll look at a cow
is when it’s pickled in the name of art.
He said: Oh! So you like art?
She said: No.
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2. |
I'll Stay On The Bus
03:03
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If I disappear,
on a bare, drunken swim,
while bereft clothes wait,
cliché piled, by the outgoing sea,
promise me…
If I vanish,
into emaciated air,
while silver cigars probe our skies,
flashing lights that strobe the trees,
promise me…
If I decay,
in an unmarked grave,
secreted beneath wasteland clay,
my fate perplexing mystery,
promise me…
If I’m last seen,
as an orange, web cam blur,
pleading before balaclavered boys,
to deaf imperialists, on my knees,
promise me…
If I don’t arrive,
and defy a routine,
retold on Crimewatch,
in ethereal, patchwork CCTV,
promise me…
If you do nothing else
please promise me
you won’t tie a yellow ribbon
round the old oak tree.
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3. |
Your Horoscope
04:41
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Money, work, moving house, babies, romance,
love, friendship, children, pets, hospitals. Some
of you will be diagnosed with cancer today.
Everything will be all right.
Sun signs, phases,
opportunities, challenges. Saturn, the lunar
eclipse, Uranus. Some of you will hurt
yourselves, or others, today. Everything will be
all right.
Mercury, dark strangers, lottery
winnings. For those of you born on the cusp,
the full moon could mark the beginning of an
episode of psychosis. Everything will be all right.
Promotion, alignments, Venus in your house
squaring with Pluto. Your dog may require
euthanasia later in the week. Everything will be
all right.
Frustration, crossroads, new horizons,
family matters, career, health. You may have to
take the day off work, as today could be the day
you admit your child into the local hospice for
respite care. Everything will be all right.
Conjunctions, opposites, your life path,
childhood, social life, parties. Expect an
invitation to attend the funeral of an old school
friend. Memories, partnerships, emotions.
Everything will be all right.
Something about the discovery of new planets
and the downgrading of old ones. The cycle of life.
Changes in your environment.
The more senior amongst you
may be institutionalised today. Everything will be
all right.
Metaphorical doors, home improvements,
doors opening, doors closing, revolving doors.
The repetition of patterns of behaviour. Resist.
Your ruling planet goes partially retrograde
towards the end of the month. Some of you will
die. Everything’s going to be all right.
Call or text to find out why destiny wears red this Thursday.
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4. |
||||
My glitter ball sees all
with its flies’ eyes
It never cries
or sheds a tear
It does not drink beer
despite spinning around a lot at parties
It's not a drunkard
or a tarty
thing.
Its relatives I've seen on 'Come Dancing'
though it doesn't much go in for romancing
It's reflective and quiet and has moody swings
but we never argue about anything
It's at its best when the sun's at an angle
bouncing beams off the walls
making spangles
of globing orb strobing square snaps of light
It never studies but my ball's very bright
clad in a multi faced mirrored mosaic
juggling daylight as I awake
launching dawn lasers around multi hued
this revolver shoots bullets of sheer pulchritude
It's a piece of suspended animation
broken reflections in rotation
and I ask,
"Would you rather be flat on a wall
in a flat, on a wall, Ball?"
And with its smile shaming sheen
It gives no reply
enigmatic as ever
I suspect
that it's shy.
Helên Thomas 2002.
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5. |
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My kidneys wrote me a letter:
they thanked me for all the tea,
and voiced their approval
of my much reduced
alcohol consumption,
though they did still enjoy
the occasional gin and tonic.
They weren’t quite so keen on
my twelve-hour winter sleepathons:
extended duvet days, which they said
made them feel dried out, sluggish
and dirty. They voiced their hope that
I never become a Jehovah’s witness.
They thanked me for shunning
The Atkins Diet, but mentioned that
they wouldn’t mind trying Vorderman’s detox,
or at least the latest antioxidant infused, dairy-free,
Tibetan snowberry juice with added flavonoids.
They seemed quite well read for kidneys.
I wondered, how did they look;
like identical twins? Or was one slightly bigger,
more dominant in a passive-aggressive
whiny campaigning way, whilst the other,
quiet-life loving kidney would happily acquiesce.
Were they ever as cartoon jolly as their smooth,
smiley kidney shape might imply?
Then I re-read the letter, and realised that
it was all about them; just a list of demands.
Not once did they ask about me;
they couldn’t care less how I was.
Who did they think they were?
I filled in my donor card
and stepped out blindly
into the centre of the road.
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6. |
||||
the culinary
puffer fish as metaphor
for my cutting words
The Japanese word
‘sushi’ means ‘it is sour’
sometimes it’s lethal
blowfish or puffer
by another name fugu
often is fatal
prepare for repast
take out prandial peril
tetrodotoxin
deadly delicious
clean cuts render edible
go gall bladder, guts
bile free and spineless
sound bites edited; souped up
vitriol punctured
unsayable truths
filleted for consumption
in palatable portions
raw cyanide, sliced,
diced, redesigned, redefined
‘that’s nice’, served with rice
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Helên Thomas UK
Reformed poet. Woman one from wonky synth duo Tingle In The Netherlands.
You will find dark, difficult,
experimental music here and by way of a total contrast, some up tempo poetry for children and, if I can find it all, an ad hoc archive of randomness for grown ups and idiots.
Make of this what you will. Note to parents: not all of the adult poems are suitable for children. Please supervise.
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