pompede frito, pompede frito,
pompede frito, pompede frito, pomp-
A mosquito lands on the strings of the violin
and it sings
of a girl who is never just a girl
without a girl friend to tell her
how to. She is a copy cat
and jealous too. She would steal
all your nightly thoughts
because she doesn’t know how
to be girl, like the girl
that you are. When you rain,
you rain emerald green and bronze,
you rain pastel colours and a perfectly fitted mac.
The cobbled streets, when the stones are wet,
are not an obstacle course for you.
When she rains, it is pale blue and confused.
She recedes. She is always receding.
She slips and stutters and never catches
the right glance at the right time.
She thinks herself a sad accompaniment,
lets other airs sway her from herself
as she words the melody in her mind:
I recorded another poetry reading earlier this week. This time of two golden shovel poems. The poems use lines from Sylvia Plath’s poems ‘On the plethora of Dryads’ and ‘Childless woman’.
I accidentally deleted the video I made last week, but this one did make it on to YouTube. Unfortunately I’m no longer able to embed videos straight into this blog, so I have posted a screenshot here as an image. If you click the image or the link below it, you can view the video on the YouTube website.
My apologies! I had recorded a reading of two poems for IGTV and was planning to add the video to my YouTube channel so I could embed it here. Unfortunately two things happened. One was that I just found out that I can no longer embed videos on my blog, because I downgraded to a less expensive plan. Second, I accidently deleted the video from Google Drive when deleting it from my phone. D’oh indeed!
So I have tried this new (new to me at least) “embed from Instagram”-thing and this probably-for-you-also-blank square is the result. If you have an IG account, clicking on the square should take you to the video. But then again, if you have an IG account, you might already be following me there, so you may have seen this video already.
If you don’t have IG, I’m sorry that you missed this video. I promise not to accidentally delete the next video I record. I’ll be making videos all summer and adding them to my YouTube channel. I won’t be able to embed them here, but I can at least post a link!
View this post on Instagram
This new season holds promise when it comes to love
a 10 billion pixel panorama is set
before my eyes, my ears, before my skin and you.
Budding green shoots, look at the way they are going.
They can’t be stopped while overhead the clouds roam like
giants, like ceiling ghosts. While under the earth a
stirring. A bridge made of flimsy rotting wood, fat
with decay yielding. And you think that you struck gold
and so, here we are. All there is left is too watch.
A golden shovel to Sylvia Plath’s Morning Song.
I like all things vernal,
unfurling like a trill
from the throat of a nightingale.
I feel like the apple of the eye
of the world, and still these words
are an approximation while my identity
is being reshuffled, Inanna to Ishtar,
syncretisation. The withered grass
feeds the young. I was never
the shining torchbearer of a precocious generation,
my winter self, longing for band-aids and lollipops,
the simple solutions to young hurts.
While a dirty neon bruise cruises behind the distant canopy,
even in the lime-green light I am a clowder of cats
in the henhouse with a cudgel.
Didn’t I tell you,
I don’t do subtle in this season.
But hope springs eternal in my breast too.
All vernal things I wish for.