Now showingAnd we'll meetNow showing by dreamingshadow
and I'll be there in a blouse that blows slightly open
like a sentence I left incomplete a year ago
that for once...
…you didn't finish
with eyes that will
skim like stones
over a hundred yard stare
It's the appeal of those little backwater town cinemas
that used to be theatres. We'll smile but with arms folded
as we file past 'Now Showing'
feeling like neither of us ever will. We'll try to find something appropriate
but something or other will always push us back into a situation
where we're sat
in the dark
next to each other
watching a romantic interest develop for a hundred and twenty minutes. In the darkness
we're most comfortable, looking on,
as if in a world outside the universe
at how these things called humans love. Well I don't know my love
and I don't know if we'll ever be seen by anyone
on the silver screen.
Silhouettes will perform
to a dialogue we know by now. Female lead will spike up with, 'I just never k
your poetry is horribleyour poetry is horrible by gustoboy
i am irrepressible teenage angst.
here is my bitchy poem.
woe is me.
(insert typo here)
i can use
drastic S P A C I N G
to make my point
(insert computer shorthand here)
my girlfriend just dumped me.
perhaps i can
write at length about
s u i c i d e
(insert trite phrase about loneliness)
because i am ohsotouchy
so, to all you
adolescents out there
your poetry is horrible.
pain does not always equal great art.
now, go write something worth while.
IntoxicatedIntoxicated by BlackRavenWing
Rivers flow backwards in the mind of the believing
and believe I do
As the day repeats itself
whilst my hands smooth over your hot flesh
Firefly's hum in the darkness
between the shadows of the returning dawn
Your kiss, everlasting; your embrace
as time starts over
and I hang onto what is beginning
© S. Atkins
© 25th June 2005
I am now offering up the short novel I wrote in seven days in November 2013 by request only. I'm not publishing it online.
If you're interested, message me, and I'll send it to you. Lame ass blurb:
In the breaths of draught let in by his presence in the doorway, her nightdress rippled a song of midnight sea; the impact of his own breath like a ghost boat sliding across her body. She was a blank white queen, like a human chess piece, surrounded by black squares, and only words now could be written upon her. She could be anything, it seemed, but not enough.
What is there to do when you feel nothing?
And how do you deal with a life you suddenly find yourself in, answering the surprisingly difficult questions from your children about the nature of the world and living?
existing follows the story of a writer who desperately tries to write himself, and his family, to a better ending.
A chapter preview can be found here: