tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-23715628768429969582024-02-08T12:47:08.082+00:00The Whispers of MemoryCalvinhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/09659782060514175607noreply@blogger.comBlogger17125tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-2371562876842996958.post-25254596495175850672011-01-15T02:50:00.003+00:002011-01-15T02:58:17.397+00:00Für BjürkThe land to the Elfin<br />Elfin, Heart-faced<br />And turned<br />To the left<br />OF ALL<br /><br />Like a carrier bad<br />Floating, pacific,<br />Violent<br />Delightedly, forsaken<br />To justifuy Your Lies<br /><br />Mug Time Terribly!<br />Human Be Hive, Yah?<br />Fourcans, Foreskin<br />Threeskin, twoskin<br />Eighteen<br /><br />Redskin last of the,<br />Mow he can?<br />PJ O'Rourke,<br />Last of the oneskins<br />LastCalvinhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/09659782060514175607noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-2371562876842996958.post-12809925688811514932011-01-15T02:41:00.003+00:002011-01-15T12:22:19.995+00:00Your FoliageHey guys, sorry it's so late. I've found inspiration hard to come by recently. Maybe it's the "big smoke." Anyway, here's the best of the last few months; poetry.<br /><br />===<br /><br />Your Foliage<br /><br />Verily, twixt trunk and tree<br />I feel your love-lorn-love-trunk<br />Sweat-love-sweat-patch<br />Maxismus Em Snake Pell.<br />Unpack<br />A flower from mouth<br />Unfeels<br />John<br />Tee<br />Niggerkicks<br />Like grave<br />and<br />Unforth<br />A felt land<br />Tongueleft<br />Right<br />Wrighter<br />Isle of wightCalvinhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/09659782060514175607noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-2371562876842996958.post-91808036517210098282010-01-26T12:15:00.006+00:002010-01-26T12:37:28.907+00:00A few Haikus<span style="font-size:180%;">✏≸♀☄♖<br />⚑✇⁂☕↻♣⚃<br />✔☜☠☃✝<br /><br />==<br /><br /><span style="font-size:100%;">▲◁►◄◄<br />◢◢▽▼△▽◁<br />◣▲◥▷◼</span><br /><br />==<br /><br /><span style="font-size:130%;"><span style="font-size:85%;">▓▒░▒▓<br />▁▂▃▄▃▂▁<br />▉▊▋▌▍</span><br /></span><br />==<br /><span style="font-family: arial;font-size:100%;" ><br />ʤᴟσϸƕ<br />ɰɻʁæðƈʄ<br />ɮʩʬʑʔ</span></span>Calvinhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/09659782060514175607noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-2371562876842996958.post-67743555669471892102010-01-13T00:33:00.004+00:002010-01-13T01:32:01.118+00:00RemembranceSuddenly<br />(Like a truck filled with old clothes<br />Hurtling down the M4 to Cardiff<br />With no rear view mirrors)<br />You came back into my life.<br /><br />I remember<br />The taste of your lip gloss<br />Lock of hair stuck across your face<br />The sweet tang of your crusted saliva.<br /><br />That summer's day you let me in<br />Holding hands we learnt new ways to touch<br />Breathed deeply, tacky with sweat.<br /><br />Our bodies locked in young infatuation<br />Air rushing from our young lungs.<br /><br />How times change.<br /><br />Now you've broken it all<br />Thrown bricks through the greenhouse.<br /><br />I was left naked, screaming<br />Curled up like a fox caught<br />With its hind legs in a snare.<br /><br />"Put your fucking pants on"<br />You said, sneering<br />Through lips, now painted<br />Only with your lies.<br /><br />The hair has gone from your face<br />And the slightly crusty saliva<br />Has long ago been wiped away with my tears<br />(Not to mention your breath,<br />Lost like an autumn breeze).Calvinhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/09659782060514175607noreply@blogger.com2tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-2371562876842996958.post-1799874144683652992009-12-06T00:18:00.004+00:002009-12-06T00:35:36.426+00:0055 Fiction<span style="font-family:georgia;">For those who don't know, </span><a style="font-family: georgia;" href="http://en.wikipedia.org/wiki/55_Fiction">55 Fiction</a><span style="font-family:georgia;"> is a style of storywriting using only 55 words to tell a story. I've always been a fan of constrained styles of writing, so I thought I'd give it a go. It's always nice to blur the tenuous divide between poetry and prose.</span> I thought I'd make it in a sci-fi style; I think it's pretty existentialist.<br /><br /><div style="text-align: center;">§<br /><!-- @page { margin: 2cm } P { margin-bottom: 0.21cm } --> </div><p style="margin-bottom: 0cm; font-weight: normal;font-family:georgia;" align="LEFT"><span style="font-size:100%;"><span style="font-style: normal;"></span></span></p><blockquote><p style="margin-bottom: 0cm; font-weight: normal;font-family:georgia;" align="LEFT"><span style="font-size:100%;"><span style="font-style: normal;">Riker left the Quasarbar, and took a drag on his photon cigarette. Polaris-beta was seething with off-worlders this time of the solar cycle. “Buy Zzkzzon's!” the billboard opposite screamed. Bio-flies hovered, scintillating in the Phosphos. Ash settling fast, he sighed, breath hanging in heavy atmosphere. Life was better when the humans were still alive.</span></span></p> </blockquote>Calvinhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/09659782060514175607noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-2371562876842996958.post-56050632222404159632009-11-27T23:45:00.003+00:002009-11-27T23:50:23.582+00:00JazzZippydeepipdepippdepowwww<br />zoo--WOP--zoo---WOP-zoo-WOP-----<br /><br />scibbydideebadoosriddyBAOdiBOW<br />doo--WOP--doo---WOP-doo-WOPdePOW<br />boom boom (boom) boom boom boomboom<br />!doobiedoobiedoobie!<br />boom boom boomboom boom boom<br /><br />dee!<br /><br />pow!<br /><br />DEE!<br /><br />POW!<br /><br />(ba) DUM DUM DUM (ba) DUM DUM DUM DUM<br />sribbyscribbysribby -!-!-!-<br />p.p.p.p.p.p.ppppp.p.p.p..p.ppp.p.p.p.p.p.<br /><br />RREEEEEEOOOOOOOEEEEEOOOOOUUUUWWWWW<br /><br />scra!Calvinhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/09659782060514175607noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-2371562876842996958.post-7249999050981195232009-11-24T10:01:00.001+00:002009-11-24T10:01:40.953+00:00Ode to an AeroplaneEast to West<br />Great grey skytube<br />Held aloft by nothing<br />But air<br />Filled with travellers<br />Some business class<br />Some economy<br />All travelling forwards<br /><div style="text-align: right;">West to East<br />Returning home<br />Weary wanderers with eyes<br />Filled and hearts<br />Made lighter<br />But not their luggage<br /><div style="text-align: center;">O, aeroplane<br />Glint in sunlight<br />Scudding through the clouds<br />You are the globe shrinker<br />The train of tomorrow<br />You are our saviour<br /></div></div>Calvinhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/09659782060514175607noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-2371562876842996958.post-18123296777496458522009-11-22T16:05:00.004+00:002009-11-22T16:32:28.062+00:00WisdomHi, Calvin here. I was listening to The Maccabees the other day, and I started to wonder about where they got their name from. It's a nice word, rolls off the tongue well.<br /><br />Anyway, it turns out the Maccabees were a Jewish way back in the day who liberated their homeland from the Seleucid Empire, which is pretty cool. I'm always in awe of collective action against oppressive regimes.<br /><br />The story inspired me, so I wrote short poem about it. I suppose it's a commentary on the parallels the story has to the modern day, what with the situation in Palestine and Gaza, and how The Media twists the image of these conflicts to its own ends.<br /><br />===<br /><br />Fight them hard, men<br />Fight them back<br />These cursed Fiends<br />Followers not of the true G-d,<br />But heathens, the lot of them<br /><br />With simple swords<br />With bronze and stone<br />And the righteousness of our lord<br />We smite with your fury<br />Taking back our land<br /><br />And so we won<br />And our marvelous legacy<br />The Hasmonean dynasty<br />Achieved through lusty battle<br />Will stand forever more<br /><br />But what of our land now?<br />But what of our great home?<br />A thousand lies and rockets<br />Bring death and horror<br />To our glorious homeland<br /><br />Fight them hard, men<br />Fight them back<br />These cursed Fiends<br />Followers not of the true G-d,<br />But heathens, the lot of themCalvinhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/09659782060514175607noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-2371562876842996958.post-21774596506866085632009-11-19T01:46:00.004+00:002009-11-19T02:01:56.572+00:00Unto the Gates"Follow me, and do not be led astray"<br />You said<br />With back arched and tongue<br />Lasciviously flicked<br />In my general direction.<br /><br />"Lead, and I'll not be far behind"<br />I said<br />With fool's hope and heart<br />Open to all possibility<br />Of you and I.<br /><br />Oh, that I were able to turn back time<br />(But not like Cher, even though that was<br />Our Song)<br /><br />It took me many mournful months<br />To come to terms<br />With the way you the waylaid the wayward ways<br />Throughout<br />Our tender summer, now bitter <span style="font-style: italic;">hiver.<br /><br /></span>February came<br />That stunted month<br />Runt to Mighty August,<br />Proud March<br />Prosperous October.<br /><br />"Once more into the jaws of hell"<br />I thought to myself<br />Like some modern-day<span style="font-style: italic;"> </span>Orpheus<br />Or another unlucky fool<br />Laid down in tales of times gone by.<br /><br />You blinked once, twice<br />But not a third time<br />Scissors, dangling as did Delila's<br />My hair, not cropped<br />But still not long for this world.<br /><br />Gripping his lyre,<br />Orpheus stepped<br />And forwards<br />And through<br />He rose<br />Ridding the past of its poison.<br /><br />Lain, pieces cast<br />Like chicken bones after a feast<br />Your body<br />Lies<br />The final words to escape from<br />Her Lips:<br /><br />"Do you believe in life<br />after love?"<br /><span style="font-style: italic;"></span>Calvinhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/09659782060514175607noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-2371562876842996958.post-2572945340224852432009-11-09T15:10:00.004+00:002009-11-10T09:54:24.414+00:00Threnody<span style="font-family:georgia;">At Paddington, two oh oh eight</span><br /><span style="font-family:georgia;">Lay an artist, not feeling too great</span><br /><span style="font-family:georgia;">No longer so sparky</span><br /><span style="font-family:georgia;">Requiescat in pace</span><br /><span style="font-family:georgia;">Our dearest beloved, Mark Speight</span>Calvinhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/09659782060514175607noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-2371562876842996958.post-33649272178903546052009-11-07T22:52:00.005+00:002009-11-07T23:04:43.617+00:00Late in the Knightthe <span style="font-weight: bold;">FUZZFUZZFUZZ</span> of white noise<br />whispers through my head<br />a train of thought<br />taught<br />taut<br />tort<br /><br />the <span style="font-weight: bold;">TICKTICKTICK</span> of time<br />rushes me by<br />a clock of pain<br />rain<br />rein<br />reign<br /><br />the <span style="font-weight: bold;">BAMBAMBAM</span> of my head<br />in the evening<br />a hit once more<br />sore<br />soar<br />saw<br /><br />awe<br />oar<br />ore<br /><br />orCalvinhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/09659782060514175607noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-2371562876842996958.post-58762444535718441092009-11-04T20:03:00.002+00:002009-11-04T20:13:05.758+00:00Tracing Paper<span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family:georgia;"><i>I stroll a street of grey disdain. </i></span><div><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family:georgia;"><i>Translucent like tracing paper.</i></span><div><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family:georgia;"><i>Crumpled and soggy from the rain.</i></span></div><div><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family:georgia;"><i>I see not what passers by trace.</i></span></div><div><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family:georgia;"><i><br /></i></span></div><div><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family:georgia;"><i>They trace their own facades.</i></span></div><div><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family:georgia;"><i>Representing their worldview.</i></span></div><div><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family:georgia;"><i>They do not know or care for/of mine.</i></span></div><div><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family:georgia;"><i>Through me, they can practically see through.</i></span></div><div><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family:georgia;"><i><br /></i></span></div><div><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family:georgia;"><i>I stroll unnoticed a desert of grey disdain.</i></span></div><div><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family:georgia;"><i>Translucent like tracing paper. Catching some rays.</i></span></div><div><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family:georgia;"><i>Somebody tries to draw on me with magic marker.</i></span></div><div><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family:georgia;"><i>What is this magic? I ask.</i></span></div><div><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family:georgia;"><i><br /></i></span></div><div><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family:georgia;"><i>"This magic", (s)he* answered, "Is the magic of subject-oriented perception."</i></span></div><div><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family:georgia;"><i>Resentfully, I look confused.</i></span></div><div><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family:georgia;"><i>I do not understand this person's sentiment.</i></span></div><div><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family:georgia;"><i>Him/her*, I can not see through. </i></span></div><div><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family:georgia;"><i><br /></i></span></div><div><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family:georgia;"><i>Maybe you too are like tracing paper,</i></span></div><div><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family:georgia;"><i>Or, should I say, tracing paper like you.</i></span></div><div><br /></div><div><br /></div><div><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-size: x-small;">*I am a firm believer in gender blindness. If we were all blind, the world would be a safer place.</span></div><div><br /></div></div>Unknownnoreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-2371562876842996958.post-25722118698682343512009-11-02T23:17:00.003+00:002009-11-02T23:29:45.557+00:00DaydreamDestiny rolls over and lights a cigarette<br />Lips purse, inhale<br />Hold<br />and Breathe<br /><br />the slow, soft buzzing of a thursday afternoon<br />echoes gently through the chamber of this moment<br /><br />A thin sheen of sweat<br />As if bathed in celluloid<br />Gold<br />and Keeps me safe.<br /><br />where once i was tumbling through the currents of emotion<br />now i feel and know and touch each second as it passes<br /><br />Sheets crumpled, the remnants<br />Of a night's embraces<br />Cold<br />and Now know no shadow<br /><br />turning back to me and gazing deep with those glassy blues<br />i need no further invitation and exhale twice, deeply<br /><br />His fingers, tenatively seeking mine<br />Almost touching tip to tip<br />Old<br />and Yet I die againCalvinhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/09659782060514175607noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-2371562876842996958.post-28734146558153374432009-11-02T21:52:00.001+00:002009-11-02T23:30:01.766+00:00November 2nd, in a Haiku<div>Unwelcome light sears</div><div>you, untangible yearning.</div><div>Chainsaw massacre.</div>Unknownnoreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-2371562876842996958.post-30096861702786450612009-11-02T21:35:00.002+00:002009-11-02T23:30:31.424+00:00"It's Just Time"<div><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-size:small;">Hi, Gary here. Well, not a lot to say about me really. I'm just a simple boy with a wonder at the word. I wrote this poem. Just let my essence bleed on the page (NotePad) in an intense frenzy of language. The piece is entitled, ""It's Just Time"".</span></div><div><br /></div><div><i><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family:georgia;">The future is a mist in which I cannot see.</span></i></div><div><i><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family:georgia;">Hazy grey days, play away and eat hay: like a ghost </span></i></div><div><i><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family:georgia;">horse eats hay (ghost hay), every day. Somehow.</span></i></div><div><i><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family:georgia;">Remorse for (most of) the dead and unborn</span></i></div><div><i><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family:georgia;">will run its course.</span></i></div><div><i><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family:georgia;"><br /></span></i></div><div><i><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family:georgia;">The future, when you think you about it, is nothing more than me</span></i></div><div><i><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family:georgia;">or you, or any of us, and what we can do is reguarly take a</span></i></div><div><i><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family:georgia;">bus to the past. The journey will last through the present</span></i></div><div><i><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family:georgia;">and tear through the fabric of any tense left untorn.</span></i></div><div><i><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family:georgia;">Wait, I missed the bus. Shit.*</span></i></div><div><i><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family:georgia;"><br /></span></i></div><div><i><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family:georgia;">The future I missed (i.e. did not see)</span></i></div><div><i><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family:georgia;">weighs a great deal of pounds (and pence) on shoulders.</span></i></div><div><i><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family:georgia;">Shoulders you and me could not even concieve of</span></i></div><div><i><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family:georgia;">if we tried, and try we do. Hence;</span></i></div><div><i><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family:georgia;"><br /></span></i></div><div><i><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family:georgia;">One day a horse will be run over by a bus,**</span></i></div><div><i><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family:georgia;">and time will at last reach an end that is just.</span></i></div><div><i><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family:georgia;">A bit of hay will fall from the horse's mouth, </span></i></div><div><i><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family:georgia;">in a slow, solemn breeze of atmospheric grace. </span></i></div><div><i><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family:georgia;"><br /></span></i></div><div><i><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family:georgia;">Fin.</span></i></div><div><i><br /></i></div><div><i><br /></i></div><div><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-size:x-small;">*I was actually at the stop on time, but didn't have the right change, and they wouldn't take a note.</span></div><div><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-size:x-small;">** The bus will be going well fast.</span></div>Unknownnoreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-2371562876842996958.post-77754151284027101362009-11-02T20:10:00.000+00:002009-11-02T20:12:16.932+00:00You AreYou Are<br />an utterance<br /><br />voices speak volumes<br />silence made absolute<br /><br />a twig cracks<br /><br />in the forest of solitudeCalvinhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/09659782060514175607noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-2371562876842996958.post-33259038473369173792009-11-01T23:51:00.001+00:002009-11-01T23:52:12.138+00:00Manchester to Leeds, 3.15pm, October 19thas rust coloured houses<br />squat as urns<br />blend into autumn's ochre foliage,<br />I Pass Through<br /><br />this cleft of steel and stone<br />running fast twixt fold and ridge<br /><div style="text-align: left;">less the clank and scream of years gone by,<br /></div>carries me (The Visitor)<br />from red rose to white<br /><br />Old Mills, Now Houses<br /><br />the chill grey clouds settle high above the bricks.<br />Green Fields, supporting Grey Pylons, supporting Black Cables<br /><br />Over canal and under bridge, we pass<br />(faces long seen but not remembered)<br />Out Of a Tunnel<br />We Stumble<br />Suddenly Amid these modern temples<br />of glass and grey<br /><br />New Mills, Now HomeCalvinhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/09659782060514175607noreply@blogger.com0