roundhousepoetry.blogspot.com
NOTE TO SELF | Roundhouse kicks!
http://roundhousepoetry.blogspot.com/2010/04/note-to-self.html
Tuesday, 20 April 2010. I left home to build a home that I can call my own. Devouring time I worry about money that I've blown. Booze, weed, clothes, food. Unessesary sun holidays sold on the promise of hordes of women,. When all i ever got was sun burn, food poisening and flashing cigarette lighters,. From a deaf, dumb and blind mute,. Whilst eating some greasy English food,. I swear that dood could see. Home aint home anymore. Home belongs to Mum and Dad. Proud owners and rightly so. Well i do mind,.
roundhousepoetry.blogspot.com
April 2010 | Roundhouse kicks!
http://roundhousepoetry.blogspot.com/2010_04_01_archive.html
Monday, 26 April 2010. Wearing your mother’s clothes because. At that age no one defines beauty more than her. It’s the first time you realise parents are just humans. And prone to making mistakes. Poetry is loving just for the sake of it. Unrequited love. Only confessed to empty rooms at night. It’s 70’s blaxploitation films. All pomp and swagger. Poetry is placing your hands in a cold stream of tap water. When the days heat up because the sun is back from hiatus. It is the string of thoughts in my head.
roundhousepoetry.blogspot.com
I Am Who You Made Me | Roundhouse kicks!
http://roundhousepoetry.blogspot.com/2012/02/i-am-who-you-made-me.html
Wednesday, 22 February 2012. I Am Who You Made Me. I am who you made me. I taste my grandmothers’ breath in the roof of my mouth. Smell it on the back of my tongue,. Unable to get her bitter after taste out of me,. She breathes through me,. I stroke her kink in my hair,. That my mother despised in me. Because they recognized in me. Their DNA laced into my flesh combined with me. Untamed without direction,. I avoid my fathers eyes in the mirror of fury,. Stares back at me in my pool of blood.
roundhousepoetry.blogspot.com
March 2010 | Roundhouse kicks!
http://roundhousepoetry.blogspot.com/2010_03_01_archive.html
Wednesday, 31 March 2010. I Like The Way This Word Sounds. I like the way this word sounds. Posted by That's good. Friday, 26 March 2010. Yes, I'm counted. I'm one in a sea of other ones. None of us no greater than our own sum. Too disorganised for collective good times to come. And we know where we're from. Grew up in your palm. But given half the chance. I'll run up your arm. And smack you for not seeing making a fist. Would have done us harm,. For not becoming what you could have been. The last time i...
roundhousepoetry.blogspot.com
January 2010 | Roundhouse kicks!
http://roundhousepoetry.blogspot.com/2010_01_01_archive.html
Sunday, 31 January 2010. Flashback then back and back again. Facing the door, keys in my hand. Now for compilation- contemplation. The flats were once an office space. All so sterile. People could definitely die here. It's a harsh- argh- keys face this. I'm greeted with a smile and my adidas hoodie never looked so good with a hug round my waist, happy I'm home-are you? Helllllloooo" 'hi' 'sorry' 'no you know what it's out of order'. I know, i know'. If you're annoyed, it doesn't give you the right.
roundhousepoetry.blogspot.com
Poetry Is... | Roundhouse kicks!
http://roundhousepoetry.blogspot.com/2010/04/poetry-is.html
Monday, 26 April 2010. Wearing your mother’s clothes because. At that age no one defines beauty more than her. It’s the first time you realise parents are just humans. And prone to making mistakes. Poetry is loving just for the sake of it. Unrequited love. Only confessed to empty rooms at night. It’s 70’s blaxploitation films. All pomp and swagger. Poetry is placing your hands in a cold stream of tap water. When the days heat up because the sun is back from hiatus. It is the string of thoughts in my head.
roundhousepoetry.blogspot.com
Looking-Glass | Roundhouse kicks!
http://roundhousepoetry.blogspot.com/2012/02/looking-glass.html
Wednesday, 22 February 2012. Black snakes ripple the surface of murky green waters. Thoughts cross faces like chessboard laces. Interlaced with alcohol induced memories of fading into blackouts,. Backed into alleys leading to the crack-house. Casting shadows on souls once made of light. Now darkened by cravings for impossibilities. Consciousness drifting on infinities. Dreams hovering in vacuum timed spaces. Hearts race to quickened footsteps taking them to their fates. Ageless desires burn unequivocally.
roundhousepoetry.blogspot.com
February 2010 | Roundhouse kicks!
http://roundhousepoetry.blogspot.com/2010_02_01_archive.html
Wednesday, 24 February 2010. I study the stillness of the dark. My eyes roam everywhere,. My only company: the baby-like cries. Of rampant foxes outside. And my sister's heavy breathing. She sleeps in a fetal position. I am filled with envy. Eyes green, glowing in the dark. I wish I could sleep right now. Maybe in another realm. My brain wouldn't be in overdrive. And I would be able to survive. The sick feeling in my gut. That shoots up to my throat. Forming a huge lump of emotion. In a soaked bed. Mysel...
roundhousepoetry.blogspot.com
KNACKERED | Roundhouse kicks!
http://roundhousepoetry.blogspot.com/2010/04/knackered.html
Thursday, 22 April 2010. He rises from his seat and walks away from his desk. Heading out the office he avoids the lifts and taks the steps. Existing the building turning right. All the shops, cafe's, cash machine and pub, are on the left. A 5 minute walk to the park he finds a bench. He takes his book Out of his bag and begins to write. When he's not writing he recites. Pacing up and down the perimiter of the park trying to get his words right. He repeats this 5 days a week. He doesn't thnik he's special.
