At times we wake and kiss, kiss and fondle, fondle and wish that morning will never come.
Ben and Jerry Sex
Jamaican me crazy with your mango berry swirl and your cherry Garcia that I just want to pop! Make you grow up. No longer cookie dough you’re baked Alaska, halfway to strawberry cheesecake. Chocolate fudge brownie? Not quite the right type, I’d rather chew your caramel chew chew than nibble on the chocolate of your macadamia nuts. Till we’re both chunky monkeys, fairly nuts, more than just...
It’s clichéd snowflakes and growing old Talcum powder, moisturiser, death-grip-cold. It’s Christmas in memory (but not quite true) it’s ceramic loos and PVA glue. It’s peeling off glueskin to reveal a glove dabbing on nails. Pasta shells. Such a puff. Not tough. Not buff. Not rough. It’s the colour of the sane and the insane. Pain: slain and colour drained. At school, piss-stained...
It’s Pokémon, pimples and boils. Being a teenager—including the sores. It’s Spiderman, Daredevil, Rudolph and GORE the colour of darkness when your head hits the floor. It’s nostalgia: ell-ee-dees and infra-red receptors on TVs. It’s blame and physics watching stars burn it’s the colour of concern when you see your friends cry— it’s STOP signs, ketchup, Typhoo and HEINZ. It’s your best...
This is taken from a series of poems I’m writing devoted to colours. It’s winter-turned lips that were kissed to warm them. It’s shedding reservoirs through tiny tear ducts and how I never saw you cry. It’s ice, the not-so-nice, and the colour of found-out-lies. It’s depth, so, so much depth and deep where we kept treasures and all our insecurity. It’s the security of being alone and...
End of Mourning
At first your name permeated my poetry. Vowels, littered like love songs. Dotted in punctuation: musical notes created just for me—so I could sing of you. I wonder when you became a subtitle the acknowledgement relegated there instead of inside the verse. You became the For Someone that no one reads. And then, gone; you are nothing. All remnants, words of you excised. Empty spaces in stanzas...
I want to see men with their trousers hoisted high by braces and shirts that tuck into thin-waist sides people who sit with eyes hazed, disconnected to life gazing at the middleworld where words come. I want to talk to people who I do not know kiss-plant-lips on lips that move. I want to carry a tape-recorder in my pocket, leave love songs or short-snappy-things to people who ignite my...
Even now, when I meet you I still put on my best clothes. Make my hair, tidy my face, dab smells behind my ears for when you kiss them to leave your lips stained with me. I polish my shoes, too. Imagine what you’ll feel when you think of us. I’m scared you’ll see below it all find me find what it is that makes me, me. And that then, I’ll lose you. You don’t make an...
All day spent together under sheets against pillows discussing. Inch by inch divulging deeper trust. Made you tea, food; kissed as the kettle boiled. Gravitationally drawn two orbiting stars. Bodies: intersecting palm lines against linen flesh.
It was clumsy nothing romantic about smashing together two mouths. I moved the wrong way; you whacked my forehead with your nose we couldn’t quite master the art of tessellation. In the end you just kissed me once, softly. And that meant all the more.
As Though Mayflies
I am not your first. I’m unlikely to be your last; probabilities are stacked against us on that one. You have loved before, may love again. You do not love me yet. No, not now. Not yet. It does not matter where we have come from whether you or I were ever bad people. The past is something personal, not a mutual mirror to gaze in. All that matters is here, who we are now together. We...
All the Words
All the words forgotten, words never said to strangers on buses too shy to summon courage: ’Hi’. All the words I’ve lost in Time, Death, Life - bundled up in bodies not my own, words I could have used and never will. All the words I’ve played games with ’love’, ‘forever’, ‘everything’, and...
Given new words to use for love: we were thesaurus bound in two names. Stitched, glued, connected. Sealed in sweat. Scribbled in ink the colour of us.
Half asleep, dragged through dreams to reality, I stir move my arm find you gone of course. Check my phone, ‘Your bed’s so much comfier than mine.’ Held in my hand: a love letter; drift away. This is another untitled one. If anyone fancies suggesting a name then you’re very welcome to - also I’m still accepting more ideas for the other...
Afterwards you didn’t bike home, we walked side by side my wheel bent from falling. Made a clackaclackaclack against the frame. Summery night, warm winds; I kept my jacket looped across my arms. The city smelt of butter. You played, toyed with me punched me jokingly told me I had nice eyes nice hair that I wasn’t like other guys. You ...
This is the edited version of a poem I wrote on...
Hi homies! So … it’s been 93 days since I started this little haven of words. That’s 93 days and 162 posts - an average of 1.74 posts per day … but that name’s a little less catchy. Anyway! If you like what I’m doing and fancy supporting me then you can always click on the heart at the top of the blog to recommend me. If you have some money spare feel...
When We Age ...
We’ll be running through sprinklers laughing two ancient figures, almost crumbling, clasped hands perfect tight. Eyes like sacks, teeth: gravestones; skin falling flapwise sagging. Vein worms bulging under fading skin. Smiling, kiss-mashed together under a rainbow throw, as though first-learning, still. - M. R. Wallis
There are only ten copies of ‘In the Boxory we Shall Dance’ left for sale. British folk pay £1.99, Americans can purchase the item for $10 and Australians for (AU)$11. Contact me using the email link and I can invoice you. Any other nationalities should give me a shout and I can work out the equivalent cost for you. All shipping costs are included in the price. Thank you, as...
I For the signatures on his body he thanked me signed in saliva, scribbled in stick; names covered every stamp of flesh. II Our love was sweetness, spring and sprung two wholes sealed inside one heart: strong as death, weak as life, we clung. III Then one day dawnsong mocked me love became sour, shrill and slacking; the emptying smile on a blank faced fool. IV Now I sit,...
Sometimes, even now, I look at pictures of you. See what you’re doing, smile when you’re mentioned; I laugh at your jokes, in my head, even when I remember tears, too. All of this is bad, I know. To recall, just when love became memory.
I hear your words played again, again, wish them voicemails. Could press one, delete no longer repeat; evermourned but nevermore.
Another complexion but without the pale A darker chocolate: 85% Cocoa filled, velvet melt. In 2008, I think it was, I wrote a list of 100 words and wrote poems for each as an exercise. This is number four: Dark.
What it Means to be You
You get used to one another’s issues, in time that’s what’s key. Towels might not be for sharing in some couples so bring a flannel in your pocket. Wet bottoms of glasses might make you shiver the other will take careful measures in pouring. With me, I like to sleep on the left, it’s just happenstance he prefers the right. In the morning he makes himself a mug of tea and one coffee, for...
This is the reason I love you all.– A buyer from california emailed me today: Fantastic! thank you so much, I can’t wait to get this framed on my wall… It reminds me of my ex-lover. We were so close…best friends, really. She broke me. We were together for a year and a half…then she decided to turn around...
We lie: two shy statues scared, scared of skin. From September in the poetry collection, when the two lovers have fallen rather completely for one another. There’s that tender shyness there, that normal human fear of revealing themselves - rigid, waiting for the other to make the first move.
Leaves fall we fall and fold together.
Mid-lipped-longing; breathing, I say: ‘How do you like to kiss?’ You laugh, squeeze the skin covering my bones lean in, feather your mouth across mine ‘Like this.’ Like this. This is from the poetry collection. Who wants to name it? Click here to submit. Edit: As it is a short poem, I don’t want either ‘lips’ or...
If you haven’t already check out the shop you lovely lovely folk. Somehow I managed to delete that post twice.
Boy The World Is A Pond; You Just Have To Believe...
This is from a small limited edition chapbook I did in 2008 entitled Melt with Me. I think there are only about twenty copies about the place. It was free. Somewhere there’s someone thinking someone taking the corner of their shirt and wiping their eyes boy! They’re hugging their knees with their chin-locked jigsaw fetal position tightness with eyes dribbling tears on their...
As our bodies merged, so did our lives till your books were at mine, my CDs yours clothing became impossible to track no system of alphabetisation can stretch two homes.
"Saddle up, sit down, good morning; welcome to... →
To those who’ve been with me from the beginning, I thank you. Welcome to the new design. I’m still in the process of updating the publications, clients and interviews. Feel free to pop me a line on the emails. - M x
I’m not sure when we began to be together I mean, neither asked the other it just sort of … happened like when you look out in the evening and it’s morning, thinking: Where did the night go? I’m glad for it. It’s better. Two lifelines running together merging, spilling, seamless two trees growing twined and intertwined. What will our leaves look like when they...
At my door you said you had a wonderful time should do it again this week … give me a hug to say goodbye. Laughed, clumsily hopped, threw my arms around you. Lay my head in the nook of your neck. The first time I’d been so close to you, alone, except that night when our fingers matched in the darkness. Nothing sexual but sparks all the same. Far too shy to say anything. Far too wary...
butnotinlove asked: i have spent the better part of an hour reading the poetry you've posted. your work is absolutely breathtaking. you are talented beyond any poet whose work i have read in a long time. thank you for sharing your brilliance. (:
As Today's National 'Don't Vote Tory' Day ...
Let’s all plod along to Ink Sweat & Tears where my David Cameron blackout poem has been used.
Collaboration with Typapp. It would be lovely to bathe in your lightning showers again be cleansed by electrical charges vertical, you granted: every shocking sting, vapour stick arching arced - lovely, you were- thunder, heeding me. S o m e t i m e s you tickled rain- ...
By the Colour of Death
By the colour of death I know him well blue like the depth of winter; cold as if in his eyes he captures that unforgiving light of fluorescent bulbs, harsh above bodies in an autopsy room or swimming bath changing rooms highlighting every dimple, dent, scar of a mark of your body. You see his paintings in those who mourn: a deep violet or mauve, verging on black. The sort of oil-paint...
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