It's not quite Wednesday here but since I missed last week...
This piece came out of free write I did working with a group called
Malika's poetry Kitchen that's based in London. I've realized that I
must like poetry, if I'm willing to give up my Friday nights to discuss
the stuff! (haha) I'll be submitting this into their anthology so I
wanted to see how it went down elsewhere. It's stanzas are a bit
irregular so I wanted to know if it needed more. Please feel free to
tear it apart...
Thanks! Heather
www.heathertaylor.co.uk
Transitions
It's the sky rumbling, rocks slipping,
mud water-sliding off mountains
to chocolate coat villages
like Pompei ash kinda time.
It's wind whipping seas savage,
water snaking through narrow canal streets,
neighbours coveting TVs, car stereos, and other mens' daughters,
bodies floating like bloated pool noodles past
new widows waiting by broken windows for rescue kinda time.
It's the earth shaking, buildings
becoming fallen sponge cakes,
tight layers sandwiching people like jam kinda time.
It's the clocks moving backward,
the night invading my afternoon made-for-TV movie
imported from America, I just can't get enough hobnobs
or lying on the sofa in my jammy-pants kinda time.
It's why did I ever wear that or be photographed
in navy strips with checks like the 80's threw up on me
(minus the silver gloved crotch grab) kinda time.
It's parent turning child kinda time.
It's I think I love you, should we move in together,
are we moving too fast, I still need my space
but never want my bed to be empty kinda time.
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