Archive for January, 2012

Under Breath
January 31, 2012

by Elexa Rose
A smile that spreads as soft as butter.
A voice that can make the heaviest of hearts flutter.
That off-blue stare that stops me mid-sentence, I stutter
and fall.

January 27, 2012

by Elexa Rose
We ruin the music with words and phrases,
Playing to a sea of pale, burnt-out faces.
Their eyes are lost in empty spaces,
Lost forever in our spot-light mazes.
The orchestra below always sounds the same,
Asking, “What do we do to start over again?”
It eats up every note that I drain,
The strings of violins are heavy as chain.

Tomorrow will be Tuesday, maybe
January 23, 2012

A poem by Caroline Bird, Last Tuesday. I love it, you should love it.

As we
January 21, 2012

by Elexa Rose
We collapse as
the speakers drop
as we wait
as I’m wishing
I was the sound
that surrounds your mouth.
We three are the
crowd, spiralling
in your vanilla eyes.
As we fall you listen,
you blink as we
dance, as we
spin your world around.

Is this what they call the end?
January 17, 2012

White lines followed by red lines
they interlock like a picket fence.
Just ask the question to show
you realise that I’m growing sick
and tired.

Like Melting
January 17, 2012

by Elexa Rose
Soft ash
that burns
although –
Glass sees through
into our heads
and cuts
up our thoughts.
I’d do anything
for you
to breathe life
back into
my sunken chest.

Poetry > Novels
January 16, 2012

So this is really just a rant. What I don’t understand is why novels hold greater prestige than poetry. Why is it that most people have read at least something by Hardy, Austin, Wells or Dickens; any classical writer yet the great poets of the past aren’t nearly as celebrated. Ezra Pound? He practically created modernism. E. E. Cummings? Another hugely influential writer that has had an impact on poetry to this day. T. S. Elliot? People seem to only associate him with The Waste Land, yet it seems no one has actually read it… if we can’t appreciate the classical poets how can people ever appreciate the great, up and coming poets of today? For instance, Caroline Bird, a young poet that has just continued to excel in the poetry scene from a young age. How many people actually know her name? How many people actually know what poet laureate is? Or know anything about Carol Ann Duffy other than she’s a lesbian and a bit of a feminist? It just annoys me, because all other art seems to hold so much more esteem. Any other styles of writing, music, visual art. When did people stop caring about poetry? I mean, how can someone enjoy literature and not poetry? I know so many people who can sit and read and thoroughly love George Elliott’s Middlemarch, yet put a couple of stanza of Barret-Browning in front of them and they moan. Poetry does so much more, it says so much more, it’s so much cleverer, it requires so much more, it’s simply brilliant. But then again, are modern-day poets trying to reach out to the wider audience? Or in doing that would they lose respect from the critics, from fellow poets? Is poetry in itself inaccessible these days? Who knows. Oh well. I will finish this with a poem by Matthew Sweeny which I think is accessible, is clever and resembles the kind of poetry I inspire to write like. I hope others enjoy it too.

Sanctuary by Matthew Sweeny
Stay awhile. Don’t go just yet.
The sirens are roaming the streets,
the stabbing youths are out in packs,
there’s mayhem in the tea-leaves.
You’re much better off staying here.
I have a Bordeaux you’ll like,
let’s open it. (I’ve a second bottle, too.)
And a goat’s cheese to fast for,
also a blue from the Valse of Cashel –
and the source of the bread stays a secret.
Was I expecting you to stay?
No, I always eat like this.
Hear that – wasn’t it a gunshop?
Come closer, turn the music up.
Maybe we should dim the lights.
Let’s clink our glasses to each other
if no better toast comes to mind.
I told you you’d ooh! at the cheese –
here, have some more. A top up?
You’re the kind of girl I like.
Listen, that was definitely a bomb.
Maybe the civil war has strted,
the one they’ve all been promising.
Well, there’s nowhere to go now,
so let’s kill the lights and retire.

January 16, 2012

by Elexa Rose
It’s not that I don’t
care, or I’m stoned
or a bit drunk. I just
can’t let myself trust
your less-than half
hearted words. We laugh
and smile though I wish
you’d put meaning in your kiss
so these silences aren’t so
painful and slow.

January 3, 2012

by Elexa Rose
Just to be devoted
desensitized, a severe lack of
the lonely syndrome.
Just to hear you drone and
moan on. Gloat, boast
and pretend you’re better than that.
I love who you want to be, who
you really are and exactly how
you do it.
Absolutely, the whirring
and the turning in a rut.
Forever pontificating for,
remembering for, leaning towards