Friday, 21 September 2007

Whimsy

camomile tea
dandelion wine
sip some chardonnay
feel dirty divine
wear a gown of lovelace
beads all shades of blue
a silly beret on your head
salutes the bohemian in you
logs in the fireplace
indian rugs on the ground
the spring flows through the backyard
and makes for a peaceful sound
books in cupboards and shelves of jade
music all over the place
oranges mandarin or otherwise
bring some much needed taste
a dog to warm my toes
a place to call my own
the whimsy which defines me
is all
but all gone.

Thursday, 20 September 2007

why runwrapt?

i have been writing poetry, or should i say trying to, since i was five. trust me, my parents have embarrasing evidence to prove it. note paper with terrible terrible handwriting and people with remarkably good memories who recall my reciting my work to them.
i think my aim then and now is pretty much the same. to write. and to rhyme. but i'd like to think i have moved beyond such gems like, ' my uncle is thin and looks like a pin' and that 'he has a moustache that looks like a sash'. you know? i do try some prose poems as i like to call them..
so 600 or so poems later, i want to believe that i can rhyme but not just merely rhyme, actually make some sense.
and no matter how much i write, i come back to some poems and some lines that make me proud and make me think not bad, you know your way around this girl.
someday is one of those poems, those lines are some of the ones i am especially proud of.
so the title..

Wednesday, 19 September 2007

someday

slow suicide by the bottle
i’ll drink my life away
i have nothing to live for now
not even yesterday

whiskey water whining
rum wrapt reminiscence
vodka’s my constant companion
my drink the point of reference

nirvana what bliss
to live like this
in bed with nothing to do
no stories no sex no nothing
oh but i mourn for you

yesterday i almost got better
actually took a bath
but then i got the better of me
i’m back to the point of start

wine stopped working
a long time ago
bourbon does wonders
when my spirit sinks lower than low

life from a looking glass
a glass full of my sorrow
i’ll drink my fill today
and not think of tomorrow

drink drenched dreaming
liquor’s my lover till i die
my soul’s getting colder
time to say goodbye.