- Presents
 |
|
|
|
Lucy Freedman Lucy Freedman grew up in middle class Suburbia and was driven to fiction to escape. Now a first year University Student Lucy is experimenting with poetry (after three half finished novels, a few dodgy plays and some bad photographs) and it seems to be the best creative outlet for her so far!
New to the whole poetry circuit Lucy's
performance experience lies mainly in theatre and singing,
and so far her poetry is unpublished... with no aspirations
to be the next Byron, Lucy just wants her poems to make
people smile, or to think about things.
Suicide Kate commits suicide every day Sold her soul to the devil in a tax return Drinks poison from a crisp, new Starbucks cup Kills herself on the packed out tube, Not with a big blast, a backpack, an ideal... Just with apathy, that slow, painful cancer As she gazes at grey faces in black suits, Enclosing her in from all angles Trapping her into a well-deodorised armpit.
Chris commits suicide every day A robot behind a riot shield He hasn’t read the placards and banners They could say anything... he doesn’t care Isn’t allowed, just wants his pay check. Hits dreadlocks with batons Crunches bare feet with boots Straight faced Perhaps he’s already dead.
Jen commits suicide every day Trawling round Tesco’s for bargains on baby food Scathing eyes of the playground mothers slowly wearing her down Her Chelsea Tractor makes her feel strong After teatime, bathtime bedtime she’s alone Watches the window for her husband’s return His dinner in the microwave, ready to go with the loving press of a button She switches on her 9 inch plasma screen Some drama to nullify her... remind her what life before death was like.
Rob commits suicide every day Suffocating in a haze of blue smoke Bedridden till night Dreaming of the girls he’ll bring down with him, Stab with his penis and leave fighting for breath and for reason Needs to pop pills to keep him alive But the pills kill him 3am chip fat saturates his soul Paralytic on his death bed at only 19 |
Untitled And there lay a telescope In oak and shining copper To be taken to observe the stars overhead Which are flung into nothingness, the embers of a thousand cigarette butts Which by day die forgotten and untraced.
So I took down the telescope And raised it to my eye Which I squinted, and make the world seem shrivelled, shrunken and displaced And I placed the glass in its place To replace the power of humanity A shard of glass more powerful than Einstein’s race
And the stars amazed me They were not how I’d remembered Not like diamonds in the sky Like ‘twinkle twinkle little star’ They did not twinkle at all
The stars were clustered, technicoloured, crazed In clashing red and pink In green and yellow, blending and running Like highlighter fluid splattered on a page Or a box of liquorice allsorts exploded on sunny grass.
And as I twisted the telescope The stars danced and leapt in speed Like athletes competing in little groups They evolved in a second from stripes to curls and from curls to swirls and from swirls to whirls They flashed like neon and glinted like rubies
And then I realised, it was no natures’ stars I was watching in awe from below The telescope was a kaleidoscope! The stars were sequins, placed by... ‘Made in China’... a child in a sweatshop. Such beauty born from such pain. |
Unjust Outside Baker Street Station
Just outside Baker Street Station The hive from which like bees they buzzed, (Kicking sodden headlines and trodden coffee cups Liberating plastic bags... Which polluted in technicolor as they flew... FREE) To congregate, swarm against the cold, She squatted FORGOTTEN
Just outside Baker Street Station When the world whizzed by in winter coats Sparing change for the waffle stall (Whose sickly scent perfumed the air... More than the designer smell expelled from the wrists of the Businesswoman) She huddled Outstretched hands, quivering ...EMPTY
Just outside Baker Street Station When the night grew cold and dark and empty When the stomachs of the masses rumbled And the fingers requested gloves, To unlock the door to central heating And a mug of warm tea She whimpered NAKED FACE To face the wind
Just outside Baker Street Station On a dark night in a dingy doorway To a shop window dripping with light Mannequin’s cold plastic skin lovingly wrapped In hats and scarves of every hue Who would notice a SMALL GREY FIGURE As she squatted FORGOTTEN?
|
|||||||||||||||||||||||
|
Expect Resistance The trigger residing deep in the belly Pulling, easing Resist Resist The tigers unfurling To throbbing and throbbing But The Goodness still whispers: Resist
The roar of the motor she’s humming, she’s singing The gun has erupted Resist Resist The tiger is angry She’s roaring she’s braying But the Angel is hushing: Resist
The blood now is pumping and spreading and spreading The cogs now are whirring Resist Resist The deep drums now beating a rhythm an order But mother’s voice echoes: Resist
The space in between us it trembles and quivers And defies the cry to Resist Resist The smell of the warmth, the expectation But I must turn away and Resist
For stainlessness sake I’ll Resist Resist For holiness, wholeness I must.
But I am not steel and I will not be stainless I will breath till I burst...
I surrender. |
||||||||||||||||||||||||||
Copyright for all works on this site rests with the individual poets.
All poets using this service must ensure that they wholly own the copyrights for their works
as rrrants.co.uk takes no responsibility for copyright infringements!