Sentinel Poetry (Online) #37

3rd Anniversary Issue – December 2005

ISSN 1479-425X

Frontpage

 

Poetry

 

 

ASHLEY WHITE

 

Warm Breeze

i crave your warm breeze
the same warm breeze that fills your heart
and its difficult to climb these walls
when you fall from the sky

summer lives in you
and everything dances in your shadows
and its difficult to climb these walls
when you fall from the sky
i will pick your petals to keep me alive
i will taste your scent it gives me light

 

Chew the Fat in the Biting Gales

i'd kiss the waterfalls that run wild like stallions across the prairies
but i’m short of lipstick
i can't wait till you tell me the latest fling
it excites me like no other
maybe you could excuse my lies
tomorrow will be a beautiful day
you bore me with daytime television
then prepare the meat with an uncouth blade
there’s no stimulation in your town

i rang my doctor asking for a cure
but he treats the soul like a burn
i'd liken you to an ornament
made of papier-mâché
but I can never find the time

you choke me with cheap cigarettes
tell me of parties gone by
speak of old times
with a nagging nostalgia
insinuating that my warmth is no longer revered
well i once used to have romantic lines to say
but my visions pixelated when the bottle of inks run dry

 

Obvious

i awake a strong scent of death
and as it fades it only ripens your senses
turn yourself over
the black and blue of the sky only matches when we fall aligned with the stars
no one exists
the way the exhibit carried you
you'll fall over the moon
for your intentions are so blatant


Broken Wings

when there’s wind in your sails
you'll expect a kiss from the heavens
well i suppose in your night of bliss
you were told that spring flowers grow again
but broken wings never mend
so scribble your name across the stars in another universe

 

Hidden Places and Long Distances

when you coat all july
in the taste of summer
the birds laugh they choke on their bread
and when your skin walks off
it does so in protest
it can't be surprised
by the burning lights
that it tries so hard to manifest
it’s seen daylight between before
curled in a ball just toes to hang to
reflections in clouded souls
and secrets of the sun
the running of your bath
school children laughing
at their own patterns in the trees
houses that frown
people are busy cooking up a storm
my clockwork is all messed up
no smiles in my hair
no smiles in the air

Whitewalls in Amsterdam

windows have always been sweet wrappers
through which trees whisper sweet nothings, grow sideways, note silence
you invented a new colour to spray paint red
for the children who want biscuit tins for houses
dizzy spells
there goes
the dizzy spells
when taking a bird’s wingspan literally
firstly i'd write you down in figures
followed by ticking tiny little boxes
what’s with these tiny little boxes
i've taken to throwing up concrete slabs
bits of scrap metal giving me throat tickles
doorways and chimneys meet you in the parking lot
then comes the pattern of the rainfall
before the moon gave birth and the sun got high
i was somewhere else
tell me i’m somewhere else

i have so little to do
and so long to do it in
being outside the window
as you so potently explained
is to be showered with piss
from gods sweaty cock
it’s to get driblets on your eyelashes
and a cold blowing of his lips
freezes your frail body
its called winter
and for all its discrepancies
i find it romantic in the strangest of ways
to watch people getting wet from your window
is a comforting feeling
to read a book and peer at umbrella waving black-suited tits with briefcases
is a special feeling

 
 
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