Current Affairs

[bogusagain]

I couldn't find the thread I thought this poem belonged to so I thought I would start a new one called Current Affairs, which seemed apt because of the nature of the poem I am going to post because as a title it has a double meaning.

Anyway, after being bored of poetry for some time and going through the motions and writing pretty lame stuff, I suddenly had my battery recharged with a little enthusiasm. Now I don't make any great claims for this piece as poetry but I think it hits my subject on the head.

Recently a politician in Britain has been in the news for allegedly groping his female staff. Anyway, in the so called quality press this brought all the 'raving fallopians' out in force condemning all men as baby rapists, wife beaters, mother rapists, father rapists! (to quote Arlo Guthrie) The lack of balance really pissed me off but it got me writing with purpose again, whether what I wrote is crap or not I'll leave to you, the point is in the writing, not the art.

current affairs​

I am the condemned sex
the violent sex, the guilty sex
the sex that can’t say no
I need instant gratification
I demand satisfaction​

of a morning I will get up and look back
to see her knotted in the disheveled bed
a castaway beached on a hostile shore
a Henry Moore sculpture on Emin’s unmade bed
something a mother threw out, the cat brought in
something saved from the dump

there is evidence enough
bed plus woman plus sex
the equation adds up
the frame fits perfect​

language mutated from innocent metaphor
through innuendo to double entendre
verbal heavy petting reassigned the itch
from brain to groin, after lingering on the belly
my slick tongue and salesman’s patter
had her buying like a housewife
trapped in a loveless marriage

that whore of feminist indignation
the slut of the politically correct
Catherine MacKinnon, once said
‘Politically, I call it rape
whenever a woman has sex
and feels violated.’​

should I be the peacemaker?
make breakfast to show my appreciation
stroke her forehead with affection
to keep soothed the tempramental feline
say the big lie, ‘I love you.’

or should I indulge in a little distraction
a little oral jousting, a compliment in her ear
with a slight of hand, remove her rearguard action
and should I notice a little collaboration
a lifting of her derriere as a way of invitation
should I skip the foreplay and storm the citadel?
I am, after all, a borish brutal man

 

[twelveoone]

rearguard action, collaboration among others
left out occupation but WTF
I like pissedoffpoetry
Milton did it

as for this:
something a mother threw out, the cat brought in
something saved from the dump

something old and rather used - context always is king, isn't it.

pluralize the title again *left the s off

 

[bogusagain]

Politics and the chattering classes are really pissing me off at the moment. The politicians are locked into kindergarten group think, while the chattering classes have all the answers even though their answers change by the day. I don't want to like the same art and poetry as them, they contaminate culture!

 

[bogusagain]

Not really sure where to post this, I just can't be bothered submitting it.


you are an acquired memory
I feel you’ve always been here
some matron butting into my business
so much so, I sit here by the window
watching you take over my life

too many memories litter this room
there are too many emotions misspent
I replay you like a sentimental ballad
as though playing you would rewrite the lyrics
sing you in a different key

you sip genever and nibble zoutjes
with the gravity of taking communion
confess your regrets like accusations
the fashionable scene and reckless sex
as though I pimped you round the town

the world is your problem, it has nuance
slippery, like an eel to the touch
like a man, it twists and turns
vague and unpredictable in the hand
indolent when the temperature is cold

my language is crude and doggerel
I speak in double entendres
a tongue you misunderstand
as you watch my lengthening shadow
arc like a sundial across the wall

your prune face cannot hide
disgust at my inconsiderate salute
well have no fear my dried up dear
my delinquent doesn’t rise for you
but for the fresh faced girl who charmed
before your spit turned acid

 

[HarryHill]

Tagging this so I can see when the next installment posts. Vitrolic, I think.

 

[Angeline]

Not really sure where to post this, I just can't be bothered submitting it.


you are an acquired memory
I feel you’ve always been here
some matron butting into my business
so much so, I sit here by the window
watching you take over my life

too many memories litter this room
there are too many emotions misspent
I replay you like a sentimental ballad
as though playing you would rewrite the lyrics
sing you in a different key

you sip genever and nibble zoutjes
with the gravity of taking communion
confess your regrets like accusations
the fashionable scene and reckless sex
as though I pimped you round the town

the world is your problem, it has nuance
slippery, like an eel to the touch
like a man, it twists and turns
vague and unpredictable in the hand
indolent when the temperature is cold

my language is crude and doggerel
I speak in double entendres
a tongue you misunderstand
as you watch my lengthening shadow
arc like a sundial across the wall

your prune face cannot hide
disgust at my inconsiderate salute
well have no fear my dried up dear
my delinquent doesn’t rise for you
but for the fresh faced girl who charmed
before your spit turned acid

I don't think it matters where it "belongs" because it's so good. I'd maybe edit it down a little (really just a little), but this is one of the best poems I've seen from you lately-- and it all has been good. I think whatever mojo you were hoping to find when you started writing here again is back in force.

 

[twelveoone]

Politics and the chattering classes are really pissing me off at the moment. The politicians are locked into kindergarten group think, while the chattering classes have all the answers even though their answers change by the day. I don't want to like the same art and poetry as them, they contaminate culture!

NO they stagnate (or if you prefer, advance on the recessive gene front)
it is we that contaminate

as for your prune face/acid, i think you should submit it to new poems, it certainly would be one of the fresher ones

prune face i would work on, just a little too stock, i'd take a little juice out of the plum first

 

[bogusagain]

as for your prune face/acid, i think you should submit it to new poems, it certainly would be one of the fresher ones

prune face i would work on, just a little too stock, i'd take a little juice out of the plum first

Points noted (as spot on) and poem submitted. Why not?

Thanks for the nod of approval Angeline and not forgetting Harry.

 

[bogusagain]

I might as well post this while I'm here. Saving stuff on the htread is a good way of not losing it on my computer!


Flo reclined and scratched her vulva
the irritation of posing nude
when outside trams jam and jar
sending tremors through the floor
to shiver up through her boneless structure
her fatty circumferences piled up high
into a mountain of milk blancmange
threatening to collapse and spill
swamping the room with pap

how to note her defiance of gravity
her self supporting lardy bulk
questioning the laws of physics
as she shifts each breast in search of comfort
blaming the temptation of cake
and a history of disappointing sex
tripled chinned she takes it on each one
as my pencil seeks out honesty
and finds an over inflated mattress

 

[bogusagain]

my angel of redemption

you collect slights, as others collect stamps
graze over them and magnify their significance
listing grievances and invent motives, happy
to condemn those who pass through your barren life
as you construct your case for the prosecution

why blame yourself when you can blame me
if it’s not me, it will be someone else, something else
you have a knack of disturbing sleeping dogs
rooting out old underwear, digging up old bones
time cannot defeat your forensic eye

you hang onto your resentment like a crucifix
compare your stigmata to Jesus Christ’s
the world was not ready or worthy of your sacrifice
people dared to live their lives unaware of your distress
unaware you suffer on their behalf!

 

[bogusagain]

gusset

gusset, a triangular insert as in a seam
for added strength or expansion
this blameless structure, this design
in which your cunt presses
snug as a lotus-eater in a hammock

laid back but not thinking of England
but letting old Blighty take the strain
there comes a point in every relationship
when the accounts are tallied up
and one thinks what’s the point

desert islands are only romantic
when you are doing the urban drudge
no one wants to be stranded with their lover
knowing the mainland has more to offer
more places to escape to, to amuse

you built a circumference of picket fence
each night you’d tighten it like a noose
squeezing out the oxygen
until the stars were points of desperation
some Hitchcockian nightmare

what happened to this boho tenement
before your gusset took the strain
like some old hippy you’d just hang out
your scrub of hair was some adventure
but now its neatly trimmed

 

[bogusagain]

I don't think it matters where it "belongs" because it's so good. I'd maybe edit it down a little (really just a little), but this is one of the best poems I've seen from you lately-- and it all has been good. I think whatever mojo you were hoping to find when you started writing here again is back in force.

I forgot to thank you for the compliment Ange. How could I not acknowledge such a hot and talented dish as you!

 

[bogusagain]

feminism

the specious male privilege of ogling
to call it art is a sophistic deceit, you assert
like a school ma’am dishing out the rule
you should have marched in naked
flaunting your assets in all their glory
declaring this is what you become
an old cow who’s been is milked too often
your pudendum displayed like a wound
obsessively scratched by men

he stops caring when he refuses to witness
crimes he committed in the sex war
which had pig me considering a harem
the spectacle of raving fallopians rearing
from centuries of somnambulant moil
the nightmare of warrior you, a latter day Boudica
afore an army of breasts and triangles of pubic hair
the male species vanquished like infidels
their false god proved impotent

a pity you missed his lardy complexion
his angular pose rooted on the edge of balance
a cluster of anemic fruit forlornly dangling
as though they survived a season of drought
too busy nursing your paranoia, like a puritan
on a crusade against carnal love and foul idolatry
what did you expect, Kate Hathaway simmering
or Kate Winslet, lips puckered, legs akimbo
offering the weight of her breasts

 

[bogusagain]

cartograpghy

you claim my drypoint is a stiletto
a tool used for your disfigurement
scarring plates and pressing lies
newssheets as low as tabloids
disseminating a subliminal lie

if such power was in this hand
would I waste it on your distortion
it is the years which have betrayed you
they could not cope with your demands
nor is there an antidote for time

the days I would trawl over your belly
confronted with hideous perfection
your lean torso stretched before me
a freeway into the future, the road into you
the optimism of a new journey

I took the challenge of mapping you
your heartland routes, your cleft landscapes
your contours and the detours we took
your out of the way places, the by ways
you were an endless surprise

but summer camps gave way to winter
the anonymous motels where we’d shelter
wake in bland rooms of faded furniture
your body slowly giving to no support
molding to the space it would occupy

I charted this change with diligence
such bodies, I said, speak in tongues
sometimes quite literally, a mirror
reflecting where you’d been, where you’d go
the brutal end was signed

 

[twelveoone]

feminism

afore an army of breasts and triangles of pubic hair

you see why the number three is significant, count 'em
1,2, and 3

feminism
a cluster of anemic fruit forlornly dangling
as though they survived a season of drought

still life getting stiller, great lines