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Quickfire poem: On the Internet
Mar 2nd, 2014 by Entropy

A quickfire poem. No polish, straight from the hip flask. Enjoy! Happy poetry!!

On the Internet

I live in a world of people
But sometimes I have to imagine those people because I am really only in my home alone.

I live in a world of people
And sometimes they all press in on me because I am always only in my home alone.

I live in a world of people but I forget to go out and see them because I am only ever in my home alone.

Turn it off. Go outside. See the world of people. Breathe deep. Be YOU.

‘The out from under’
Mar 1st, 2014 by Entropy

A quickfire poem – from the hip, without polish

‘The out from under’

I struggle beneath his ego
It takes up all the place
I’m pressed into the corner
The walls press on my face

I cannot seem to move
It’s getting hard to manage
He’s sitting on my head
And doing lots of damage

I’m choking in his shadow
To find the smallest chink of light
I will not give up trying
But I am too tired to fight

I don’t know who I’m fighting
Is it him or is it me?
Is this my ego bruising
Or has his begun to breed?

If he’d move over just a tiny bit
And make a little room
Then there’d be air and light and space enough
For everyone to bloom.

I’ll never win by jealousy,
Nor competing. Not by rage.
The book of me is all my own
So turn to my next page

I only win if I do not fight
And don’t give mind to trouble
It’s time to breath in my own light
And pop him like a bubble.

– a quickfire poem
By Kathie Kingsley-Hughes

‘The Tiny Me’
Mar 1st, 2014 by Entropy

A quickfire poem – from the hip, without polish

‘The Tiny Me’

There’s a little me, who I hear, who I know…

She’s very small and quiet and she doesn’t show.

But she’s wise and brave and doesn’t give in.
While I struggle and fight and can never win.

Her voice is soft and often lost
amid the daily clamour.
She doesn’t seek a word of praise, competing for the glamour.

And she carries on regardless, in her child-like playful way,
never worrying or caring if her toils see light of day.

If you care to hear her speaking, you may have to listen hard.
But first please drop all your judgements and soften up your heart.

As the outside me grows older, she doesn’t seem to age.
And the outside me gets colder, she never feels my rage.

She just plods on in darkness, not seeking the smallest chink of light, while I struggle to be noticed and fuss and fume and fight.

I wish that I could be her, if only for a minute.

And then perhaps I’d free her …
… to live beyond my limits.

A quickfire poem by Kathie Kingsley-Hughes

But Love
May 31st, 2012 by Entropy

But Love

Stepping into a new life every day,
touch is fleeting, but
love endures.

But love is just
a construct of my mind.
My only hope that it is
similarly constructed
in yours.

Attached silken bond,
binds as it winds
between us, like
a velvet hawser,
from me
to you.
And back again.

But love cannot be known.
Are you lying
as you are lying next to me?
Does silken bond bend
from heart to heart?
Or hip to hip?
Or flap free like
toilet paper
from my heel?

But love Is trust.
Is that me
trusting you,
or am I trusting me?

In The Orchard
Dec 16th, 2011 by Entropy

In The Orchard by Entropy

When I was nine
I bit a peach,
my teeth hit
sudden stone
it made me bleed
sharp iron tang
into my mouth.

The split peach stone
fell to the floor,
its chance of
beginning
new life
hardening,
forgotten.

The peach juice
mixed with
bright lip blood
dripped down
onto my chin.

I spat peach flesh
onto the ground, to
rot and mingle
with the grass.

I’ve never
tasted peach
since then,
not even in a pie,
without recalling
that blood red tang
when I was
only nine.

“Hand-Span/Brain-Pan”
May 31st, 2011 by Entropy

Hand-Span/Brain-Pan”

What is me?

As I sit, my elbows

resting on the desk,
eyes tight shut,
head-in-hand,
I am struck by
the narrow
width
of my temples
between my thumb
and forefinger.

Is this all I am?

The entirety of
my being contained
within a
hand-span?

I could live without
ear, leg, appendix,arm,
bowel, fingers, tongue,
hair, eye, tonsil, breast,
kidney, tooth, lung.
Not one of these things
is essentially
me. If it was lying
on the desk before
me, I would no more
feel that I was
there, instead of here.

Yes, there is more
to me that
keeps me living, but
all that is me thus
is contained within
my hand with
some mere warm offal,
attached.

And yet, if I had not
a hand,
if I am not
also hand,
I would not
know this;
could not
measure,
my brain-span
thus.

What is me?
Am I hand or
am I brain-pan?
Perhaps I am
both, and
neither.

 

Poem: “Tea”
May 19th, 2011 by Entropy

“Tea”

Where would I be
without that blessing,
the humble
cup of tea?
It can revive
when I am tired
and restore serenity.
And the sacred offer
to make the tea
is a ritual
in this family.

The warmth in a mug,
full of hot
sweet love,
never ceases
to amaze.
And the daughter
who makes tea
for me
is always due
some praise.

(hint, hint)

By Entropy
The §purious Collective

Poem: “Nature’s music” #NaPoWriMo
Apr 16th, 2011 by Dusty

April is National Poetry Writing Month which The §purious Collective have entered in order to write a poem a day for 30 days throughout the month of April 2011!  This poem is by Dusty:

A poem for day seventeen:
Nature’s Music

Under the cloudy sunlight

I wander as the day passes to night

And listen to the wishes

in nature’s sweet whispers.

 

High above I see the trees

Swaying in the gentle breeze

Dancing to the music of the Earth

A gift that carries no monetary worth

Their tired fellows lean upon

The shoulders of the younger ones

As the others play and sing songs

Under the light of the dimming sun

 

Many others walk this path

And do they notice the smells

The grass?

Do they see the trees play?

And hear the sounds from over the way?

 

The world is full of mystery

That some refuse to see

Not me, however

Never me.

by Dusty

The §purious Collective

See More of our National Poetry Writing Month poems. (NaPoWriMo)

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Poem: “Bruised Shoulders” #NaPoWriMo
Apr 15th, 2011 by Dusty

April is National Poetry Writing Month which The §purious Collective have entered in order to write a poem a day for 30 days throughout the month of April 2011!  This poem is by Dusty:

A poem for day fifteen:
Bruised shoulders

They look at me with unseeing eyes

Which never show a flicker of surprise

They shove my shoulders and forget to say sorry

Their inconsiderate tone makes me worry

 

Do they see the same me who stares

Out of the looking glasses mimicking

My unique expressions and glances?

 

To them do I have two heads

Or do I haunt them as they lie

In bed?

What strange thing do they see

When they so happily shove past me?

 

A monster who threatens their life

Or a burden who only offers strife

A wicked person who no soul possesses

Or a lonely loser with no life purposes?

 

To those who shove but do not spare a glance

I beg of you to give me a chance

I can be strong

I am rather smart

And inside me there beats a heart.

I don’t know you

You don’t know me

So do not shove

If you please.

 

by Dusty

The §purious Collective

See More of our National Poetry Writing Month poems. (NaPoWriMo)

We welcome feedback. You can leave a comment below or send a message via Twitter.
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Poem: “People Watching” #NaPoWriMo
Apr 15th, 2011 by Entropy

April is National Poetry Writing Month which The §purious Collective have entered in order to write a poem a day for 30 days throughout the month of April 2011! This poem is by Entropy

A poem for day 15:

People Watching

Neat lady in her seventies
in a beige wool suit
with pearls, strung
around her neck.
Legs that a
twenty- year old
would have been
proud to show off.
A sad-eyed lady,
thin and whispy,
smiled at me, was she
thinking the same thing?
That only our eyes
are the same.
I tell myself
No one is looking
at me.
I’m minding my own business
and so is everyone else.

I decide to put my lipstick
on. My mouth is dry.
I use the back of my business card case –
so far the only thing I’ve used it for –
as a mirror to paint my lips.
A man in a golf sweater pulled over
too much belly, nudges his son
who is looking at me.
“Son,” his father says, “you choose one
like that, you gotta
feed her.” I laugh
out loud despite
myself. Now everyone
is minding my business.
I do not care.
It feels good
to laugh.

Entropy (Kathie Kingsley-Hughes)

The §purious Collective

See More of our National Poetry Writing Month poems. (NaPoWriMo)

We welcome feedback. You can leave a comment below or send a message via Twitter.
Join us!
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