Category Archives: Love

Leaving Me Is Easy

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This is certainly one of the more stupid poems I’ve written recently. This evolved from a jokey conversation with my girlfriend in which I said that the one downside of never having broken up with someone is that I’ll never fully understand Phil Collins. I asked if we could try a temporary, messy breakup. She declined.

This poem is about an obsession for understanding gone wrong. It is a spoken word interlude in my ongoing epic work ‘The Phil Collins Saga’. Other poems in this story can be found in the ‘Longer Projects’ category. I have placed links to the songs referenced in this poem at the bottom of this post.

Leaving Me Is Easy

Words

Words are little more than ordered sound
And yet, they touch

Reach deep inside
And wrench out tears
That you knew should have been shed
But never knew what you were saving them for

See words are little more than ordered sound
But so is music
And one man’s words and music
Reach deeper
Wrench harder
Rapidly dismantled
I can only whisper his name

…Phil Collins
…Phil Collins
…Phil Collins

Just a word
Little more than ordered sound
But so is music
And oh what music

I put a record on
Because I’m trendy
And the end catches the needle
So the record spins
And I am at the centre
And a song begins
And I am at the centre
And another record
Sound surrounds me
And I am at the centre
And another

Until

I’ve forgotten everything about you
Til someone says your name
…ur name …ur name …ur name
Words I know catch in my throat

These words are little more than ordered sound

Words I know but do not feel
Words I will not, cannot understand
Unknown pain
The first world problems
Of a man who’s never had a breakup
Let alone a messy one

I’ve forgotten all the reasons
I loved you
Little more than ordered sound and so
A phone call
Would you mind dumping me?
What? Why?
Just to try it
I need to know, I need to feel
I need to make these words real
Just for a while
A trial
A temporary mess
Dump me, make it bad
She says that’s the stupidest thing I’ve ever heard

And those words? Now they hurt
They hurt bad and so
There’s no way out of this dark place
No hope, no future

Nah but really
Nobody’s that absurd
And words are little more than ordered sounds
But so is music
And they needn’t be owned to be known
And so I
Put another record on
Put another record on
Put another record on
Put another record on

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Even Phil thinks I’m an idiot

Songs:
If Leaving Me Is Easy
I’ve Forgotten Everything
No Way Out
Another Record (Genesis)

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Tender Lure

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I know I’m stretching the link to Valentine’s day now, and this poem has an extremely tenuous link but just go with me for one more week.

This is not quite a love poem. It’s a poem about love gone wrong. It’s about several men who fall in love with meat. Sadly, it’s how some men seem to view ‘love’ these days anyway.

Tender Lure

My simple brother Jack caressed
A juicy, dripping chicken breast
Its curvature
And tender lure
Resistance: Hard at best

But watch my cousin John appoint
This governor: A gammon joint
A sumptuous feast
Of scrumptious beast
But tell me, what’s the point?

Then lastly, Uncle James has wed
A sirloin steak, cooked rare and red
So soft and sweet
His lawful meat
He’s taken it to bed

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There’s something fishy about my housemates new girlfriend

Shall I Compare Thee To A Slice Of Bread?

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Ok, it’s been a while since Valentine’s day but I’m sticking with the theme for  this month. Last week, I compared and contrasted a lady and a sea monster. This week, I’m comparing and contrasting a lady and a slice of bread. I’m nothing if not a hopeless romantic.

Shall I Compare Thee To A Slice Of Bread?

Shall I compare thee to a slice of bread?
Thou art far more compelling when I’m tired
Bread is embellished with filling or spread
But you need no such thing to be admired

Bread is too soon forgotten in it’s bag
Becomes a moldy mess if it’s left out
But you, I want to show my friends and brag
This is the girl I told you all about!

Bread is made more appealing when it’s toast
But you need never change for me at all
Between the two options, I like you most
Because you won’t turn sticky if you fall

But most of all, and this is not a sin
I’d never, ever put you in the bin

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You’re like pasta. If you sit in my cupboard for too long, I’ll probably forget and replace you.

How Are You Not A Sea Monster?

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It’s Valentine’s day! Different people have different thoughts and feelings about today. Personally, I tend not to pay it any attention at all as it’s all a bit nauseating, but I’m posting this poem as a small nod to the day’s significance.

I was reading The Call Of Cthulhu by H. P. Lovecraft and I couldn’t help but think that it would be horrible to have to spend time with a sea monster (especially one that is actually an ancient, evil, and angry god) and that the highest compliment you could pay someone is that they are completely unlike a sea monster!

How Are You Not A Sea Monster?

How are you not a sea monster?
Let me count the ways
You don’t have slimy tentacles
Just small, warm hands to raise

You don’t have eyes like frying pans
No, yours are deep and blue
You don’t scare sailors half to death
It’s nice to be with you

You don’t protect a dark abyss
You’re generous and sweet
You don’t have pincers, claws, or hooves
Just lovely, little feet

You don’t speak in strange languages
I love to hear your voice
I wouldn’t nuke your resting place
Were I given the choice

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The lesser known (and lesser feared) sink monster

 

The Tapeworm Of Love

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It’s February, which means it’s Valentine’s day soon! This month, I’ve decided to post some valentinesy poems.

The first of this month’s poems was inspired by a Kate Bush song called Hounds of Love. Kate Bush describes love like a pack of hounds, hunting her down. I decided to write something along a similar lines, except that the protagonist describes love as a tapeworm that feeds off him. Exceedingly romantic, I know.

The Tapeworm Of Love

When I was a child
Making waves in the bath
I gave no thought but to having a laugh
Yes, when I was a child
I was too young to see

The tapeworm of love is tasting me

I lived for myself
And the things I enjoyed
I didn’t need friends, I was otherwise employed
Yes, I lived for myself
Too self-centred to see

The tapeworm of love is tasting me

You changed all of that
Occupying my mind
To what seemed so important before, I was blind
Yes, you changed all of that
And I started to see

The tapeworm of love is tasting me

This parasite’s grown
Now it takes up my time
And my energy too, but it isn’t a crime
Yes, this parasite’s grown
But at last, I can see

The tapeworm of love is tasting me

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The tapeworm’s distant cousin, the tapesnail

Too Few Words

Too Few Words

For the last of the September sonnets, I’d like to present you with a word sonnet. Word sonnets are the most unusual form of sonnet I’ve come across. They’re quite a recent creation and, rather than featuring fourteen lines written in iambic pentameter, they actually consist of only fourteen words. The aim is to try and pack all of the punch of another kind of sonnet into a much shorter space.

My attempt is probably not particularly inspiring or original but, I have to admit, I’m quite pleased with the concept and the execution of it.

Too Few Words

There
Are
Too
Few
Words
In
The
World
To
Say
How
Much
I
Love

Not even this is sufficiently suffused with sayings to strengthen my sonnet

Not even this is sufficiently suffused with sayings to strengthen my sonnet

Wuthering Heights

Wuthering Heights

Wuthering Heights is one of my absolute favourite books. It’s not a happy story. In fact it’s a miserable tale full of horrible, miserable, and spiteful characters but there’s something strangely magical about it. There’s also the fact that a ghost shows up for like five seconds then isn’t acknowledged for the rest of the book. What’s that about?

I think something needs to be made clear though. People need to stop pretending that Heathcliff is some kind of romantic hero. He’s a nasty, cruel, manipulative, and violent man. Idolising the socially stunted Mr Darcy is silly enough but Heathcliff is a swine, plain and simple.

Anyhow, this poem is pretty shoddy even by my standards but, with such a lot of misery in the source work, it’s hard to write a poem inspired by Wuthering Heights that won’t kill people.

Wuthering Heights

Heathcliff took Cathy’s waif-like hand
Exclaiming I’m a total prat
But you’re as coarse as grit and sand
And so, for what it’s worth

I think we make the perfect pair
You’re stupid and you’re cruel at that
My very presence chills the air
We’ve rid the moors of mirth

But Cathy was too weak to live
And Heathcliff also, it would seem
He died unable to forgive
That she died giving birth

The house was overwhelmed by creepers
Nobody could ever dream
Unquiet slumber for the sleepers
In that quiet earth

The book also inspired Kate Bush's brief foray into ultrasonic warbling

The book also inspired Kate Bush’s brief foray into ultrasonic warbling.