Poetry of the week – open (part 2)
| May 30, 2012 | Posted by Georgie Tindale under poetry |
And I smiled
And I smiled.
For that which was to come,
Sat still off.
Pain which would sway,
Pain which was to shake,
Pain which was to take,
Pain which would choke.
For a moment I saw
Beauty in the trees and sun.
That now? No more
For that which was to come
Sat till off.
And I smiled.
By Ellys Sugarman
Dōjō
Looking at you, I know
You hate me; don’t worry, I
Wouldn’t worry about it mate
I hate you too.
Every time we get called out to spar
We take the time to pummel each other
To senseless sacks of meat, pretending
We’re sandbags with newspaper cutting
Faces stuck on with superglue, boo to you
Sensei we’ll beat the shit each other to bits
If we would, if we could
But now I’m sat cross-legged, watching you
Get thrown and everything slows down
When an accident comes. We all know
What’s about to happen but nobody’s realized yet
And only the thrower is moving, only your legs
Are dangling helplessly in the air
As your neck snaps with a crack.
Your eyes are glassy, your head twisted round
Where you hit the ground, foam
And spittle gathering at the corners of your mouth,
Running rivers down your chin, like a baby.
Nearby, tori is kneeling openmouthed
Like a grouper fish and sensei is shaking his head,
Checking for a pulse he knows isn’t there.
Life rolls on; time marches on
But I find myself looking out
A thousand yards at a time, thinking of you.
Did you love? Did you study hard?
Were your parents proud of you, did they
Weep at the funeral, over the coffin? Were they even there?
What would you have been? Where would you have gone?
But thoughts of remorse don’t scrub floors.
This is the dōjō. Accidents happen
And people bleed for mistakes made
But we learn form them and move on;
We leave a tribute for the lost
With the way we follow
And the memories remaining,
Like the lives we live and leave behind, to be
Scrubbed out clean, for the next man.
By Joshua Teo
Someone special I know.
This seems crazy but I may as well say.
That you are special to me and you can make me smile by looking at me any day.
I have made some mistakes in the past.
But I hope our friendship will always last.
I see you so much.
To me honestly you are like an angel, beautiful but we never quite touch.
Looking at you my world is so bright and normally whenever we talk
I have to admit you’re so easy to talk too and it just feels right.
You have a special place in my heart
and after all this time we have never had a fight.
If I told you what you really meant to me would you push me away?
Or would you smile and ask me to stay.
With you for as long as you wanted, together like two sides to a coin, imagine that me and you.
I hope after all this time you trust me and know I would always there to help you
if you needed me, as when you are happy I am too.
You’re a special person and in my eyes you’re just amazing,
no weaknesses, no bad points, no anger, you’re always so happy and calm.
It’s amazing but you should know that sometimes there isn’t anything wrong
with holding onto someone’s arm.
Just keep in mind if you need me you just need to ask.
It could be you need a little boost on a simple task.
Maybe you just need to talk after a bad day, or that you need advice about a problem
that just won’t go away.
Anyway I know you are independent, so don’t worry I’m not going to patronise you going on about me as a prince
and you as a beautiful princess in a tower.
Just know to me watching you live your life is like watching the blooming of a beautiful flower.
By Alex Dib-Bennett
Eden in Suburbia
A red and pewter tinged sun
dips below the charcoal clouds,
and the white streaked sky.
The people lie, eyes up
in groups of four or five.
Buttercups line the earth,
birds pierce the air
shouting or singing.
The dew caressed grass,
rubs onto dogs’ noses,
making them sparkle.
There’s always room for violence
not amongst the ambling humans,
but three black birds
outcompeting for the highest branch.
Teasing and taunting a squawking crow
while the brook runs sleepily on.
With blood warming sunshine,
russet leaves, shadows and sun cream.
An indigo and pewter sun
dips below the charcoal clouds,
and the dark streaked sky.
By Georgie Tindale
Each week The Student Review publishes a collection of poems about a particular topic or theme. For this week’s theme, or to submit a poem, go here.
