Monthly Archives: February 2012

A Love Poem

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I want to show you
just how much you
mean to me.
I want to prove to you
that all will be fine.
I want you to say
that you’ll always be mine.
Because I love you
like Optimus Prime.

Now, I know what you’ll say
with that look of dismay
on your face, your eyes rolling
‘Well, that’s romantic..’
(When what you really mean is
You’re sad. Grow up.)
But hear me out!

See, if love poems should always start like this:
Roses are red
and violets are blue..
Well, Optimus has those same colours too!
So, believe me, please do,
when I say that I love you
like Optimus Prime.
And that this is my poem to you.

And if in any way I’ll hurt or wrong you
I swear to you I’ll change…
into a truck
and with some luck drive us away
from this place where we’re stuck
and we can…
Love each other.

And even if we hit a rough patch,
there is nothing that can scratch
the body of our alliance.
Because we’ll be fully equipped
with hidden arm cannons and a laser gun
so no-one will question us. No-one.

See, I know that I’m lucky
to have you by my side,
as I realise that you may come from Venus,
but I am definitely from Cybertron.
And that’s a lot to take on
even without Megatron.

And it doesn’t harm
that even at this speed I can
easily read the signs:
Danger! Curves ahead.
Because when all is said and done
I know that you love
and I love that you know
how to have fun.

So come on.
Admit that you love
that I love you
like Optimus Prime.

And that there is no doubt
that all will be fine.
And when this is over
we’ll talk spark to spark.
And without a word or without a sound
we’ll transform, and roll out.

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Crazy Jane at Tesco

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She treads through the aisles
dragging her cart and feet.
She mumbles and mutters
but mostly she shouts.
She knows he’s been here.
She knows he’ll be back.

Aherne, Robartes, they’re gone,
their minds so set on symbols and moons.
(Never saw the bus coming.)
She nods and sighs, grips tight on her coat
(his coat, he made it for her
a long time ago)
as she steps, back into the cold,
a smile cracks her wrinkle-aged mask.

She’s the last of them all.
Even Aengus, who visited her dreams,
has wandered off, way beyond the veil.
Yet she smiles, and tugs at her coat.
She outlasted them all:
the bishop, the vicar, the dancers,
even him, with his coat!
She grins and laughs
and laughs and coughs.
Even him, with his coat.

Sadly she looks
at the cold winter’s road
and she treads through the streets
dragging cart and feet
but softly, because she knows
they still are his dreams.

Dance

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Not summer, but winter.
Not sunset, but dawn.
The sound is lost
but it’s what I see
that matters.

My arms branch out
as I try to grasp
the first wave of light.
My thoughts reach out
as I let that
particular feeling embrace me.
I may not walk, nor move
but I dance, oh how I dance.

I sway to the black and the white
shaking my crown of sharp silver.
I sway to the white and the black
in my slowly fading dance.
And I feel the sounds
getting lost
in a matter of seconds.

So I stand.
In winter, at dawn,
before the world wakes.