luka
Well-known member
heres one that i wrote when i was 19
I was born in the dirt behind the old mulberry bush that bears stones in the autumn.
And there they hang, like eggs that never hatch.
Sprung from the hardness of stones and the stickiness of fruit, I remember almost nothing.
- There were stars. A silent company of stars that lingered on past daybreak to greet me an then shimmered and wavered until they vanished entirely.
- I was born in the priest’s garden and he watched us from the kitchen window. He wore marigolds and had a faraway look in his eyes.
- I remember almost nothing.
Save for a horse which neighed as it was mounted and the lobster coloured lights that left sharp hooks in my bare hands.
My first word, inevitably, was DOG!
A pair of stray mongrels who happen to be in love perambulate through the grounds of the church. Threading through a thicket of angels, two dogs in love.
The sepulchres are in a state of disrepair and the graves are left untended.
There they go! Off into the copse of overgrown sycamores.
There they go! Off under the sycamores with the sticky green leaves.
I am balancing on top of a wall. A wide mischievous grin stretches my mouth. Giddy and exhilarated I peer down at the pile of broken bricks and bulging bin liners below me, that’s to my left, a busy road, VRROOM, is to my right. Hey look! A sparrow! By the bus there, look! Ah, you missed it. But first of all, I was born. Right here, on the bare, black earth, and of those events, I remember almost nothing.
- Those first audacious, disbelieving steps, do you remember? Oh, he had the blondest curls.
The priest walked up and down the hallway and his crucifix kept bumping against his purple chest.
Men of the cloth! Your lips are stained with the sticky juice of grapes, no wonder you smile so guiltily. But my secrets were kept inside a golden box. Exquisite filigrees, tantalising fireworks etched in iron.
- Poisons, harpsichords dismantled by suspicious Arabs, piano strings traded for lullabies. All this is circumstantial.
- No wonder then discoveries were made. In fortresses of soft furnishings experiments which determined the future were quietly conducted.
- Translucent tinctures and lurid pink medicines oozing down my inflamed throat.
Maladies, ailments of early childhood. Cold sweats and savage dreams.
Woozily finding my way into grottoes in which I become immersed in fevers.
- O! the slimy pond, the slimy impenetrable pond whose weeds and algae adorn my little red coat. A kind man helps pick the water snails from my thighs and hangs my sodden clothes from branches to let them dry.
- Jubilant crowds made noises like cockerels heralding the return of the sun.
Candles flickered in the wan, yellow dawn.
- The meadows break out and at last the field mice emerge.
The shattered glass sells enigmas and pamphlets.
Dawn. White hunger chiselled a perfect ‘O’ in my stomach.
- Exhausted but happy we wheeze up the staircase.
One step at a time until we reach the summit together.
Hooray! Let us sit at the top of the stairs. Holding hands we can be enraptured by the view.
The cuffs of my trousers are all wet with melted snow.
- They returned me to an idyllic past where spitefully I nurtured nostalgia.
I composed elegies for milk bottles, abandoned warehouses, trips to the supermarket.
There I tried to twist the tongue of fate. Now Look Here.
I became a visionary in sudorific forests and was disillusioned when bursting out into the tawdry light of the city. I stumbled onto a road and exhaust fumes gave me a fit of silent coughing.
- How melodramatic you are!
I thought I’d shake my ribs apart. My skeleton would slip into new shapes. Look! I’m reassembled as a rooster.
- Running fiercely to reach the willow tree all the old sadnesses have returned.
I.
I was born in the dirt behind the old mulberry bush that bears stones in the autumn.
And there they hang, like eggs that never hatch.
Sprung from the hardness of stones and the stickiness of fruit, I remember almost nothing.
- There were stars. A silent company of stars that lingered on past daybreak to greet me an then shimmered and wavered until they vanished entirely.
- I was born in the priest’s garden and he watched us from the kitchen window. He wore marigolds and had a faraway look in his eyes.
- I remember almost nothing.
Save for a horse which neighed as it was mounted and the lobster coloured lights that left sharp hooks in my bare hands.
My first word, inevitably, was DOG!
II.
A pair of stray mongrels who happen to be in love perambulate through the grounds of the church. Threading through a thicket of angels, two dogs in love.
The sepulchres are in a state of disrepair and the graves are left untended.
There they go! Off into the copse of overgrown sycamores.
There they go! Off under the sycamores with the sticky green leaves.
III.
I am balancing on top of a wall. A wide mischievous grin stretches my mouth. Giddy and exhilarated I peer down at the pile of broken bricks and bulging bin liners below me, that’s to my left, a busy road, VRROOM, is to my right. Hey look! A sparrow! By the bus there, look! Ah, you missed it. But first of all, I was born. Right here, on the bare, black earth, and of those events, I remember almost nothing.
IV.
- Those first audacious, disbelieving steps, do you remember? Oh, he had the blondest curls.
The priest walked up and down the hallway and his crucifix kept bumping against his purple chest.
Men of the cloth! Your lips are stained with the sticky juice of grapes, no wonder you smile so guiltily. But my secrets were kept inside a golden box. Exquisite filigrees, tantalising fireworks etched in iron.
- Poisons, harpsichords dismantled by suspicious Arabs, piano strings traded for lullabies. All this is circumstantial.
V.
- No wonder then discoveries were made. In fortresses of soft furnishings experiments which determined the future were quietly conducted.
- Translucent tinctures and lurid pink medicines oozing down my inflamed throat.
Maladies, ailments of early childhood. Cold sweats and savage dreams.
Woozily finding my way into grottoes in which I become immersed in fevers.
- O! the slimy pond, the slimy impenetrable pond whose weeds and algae adorn my little red coat. A kind man helps pick the water snails from my thighs and hangs my sodden clothes from branches to let them dry.
- Jubilant crowds made noises like cockerels heralding the return of the sun.
Candles flickered in the wan, yellow dawn.
- The meadows break out and at last the field mice emerge.
The shattered glass sells enigmas and pamphlets.
Dawn. White hunger chiselled a perfect ‘O’ in my stomach.
- Exhausted but happy we wheeze up the staircase.
One step at a time until we reach the summit together.
Hooray! Let us sit at the top of the stairs. Holding hands we can be enraptured by the view.
The cuffs of my trousers are all wet with melted snow.
VI.
- They returned me to an idyllic past where spitefully I nurtured nostalgia.
I composed elegies for milk bottles, abandoned warehouses, trips to the supermarket.
There I tried to twist the tongue of fate. Now Look Here.
I became a visionary in sudorific forests and was disillusioned when bursting out into the tawdry light of the city. I stumbled onto a road and exhaust fumes gave me a fit of silent coughing.
- How melodramatic you are!
I thought I’d shake my ribs apart. My skeleton would slip into new shapes. Look! I’m reassembled as a rooster.
VII.
- Running fiercely to reach the willow tree all the old sadnesses have returned.