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| Welcome ! | Home · FAQ · Topics · Web Links · Your Account · Submit Poetry · Top 30 · OldSite Link | 29-May 14:50:51 AEST | ||
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Array
(
[sid] => 143386
[catid] => 1
[aid] => mick
[title] => Dear Diary
[time] => 2008-06-20 20:46:41
[hometext] => I used to find that what compelled me to write most were the really bad times, and some would argue it's during these blue moments that they write best. This poem examines this paradox. As many of you have 'journals' on here I thought this might appeal.
[bodytext] => 29/7/04 Dear Diary, in response to your question yes, it’s true, I only write to you when I’m bored, fed up, nostalgic. I gave up writing in happy times cos there wasn’t enough time to enjoy the moment innocently before the inevitable post-mortem. And there’s a limited amount of novel situations. Dear Friend why that creased gaze, that crumpled gait that pale and fragile tone? You look as if about to weap. Have I ever given you cause to doubt me? Torn you up? slated you? o.k o.k, there have been times I’ve used you as a punching ball let your edges curl with my anger and my pain so I could better feel it, before slamming you shut, out of harm’s way. But, I’ve always come back to you tail between legs craving more of your firm cold cheeks smooth touch, steady breath, unconditional presence as my sole confident. You see sadness has a colour too, even boredom sings a kind of restless beauty when poured out, cut back and stripped down. There, here’s a kiss to make it better one for both your covers, just as if you were a prayer book. Oh my precious, how good, simple, dependable you are lifted from the darkness of a glove compartment undies drawer, mouldy sandwich ruck-sack bottom. May I open your grimy dry lips again and pour my sickening unspent fantasies? [comments] => 2 [counter] => 193 [topic] => 13 [informant] => Supercreep [notes] => [ihome] => 0 [alanguage] => english [acomm] => 0 [haspoll] => 0 [pollID] => 0 [score] => 3 [ratings] => 1 [editpoem] => 1 [associated] => [topicname] => DarkPoetry )
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