pennie varvarides

Super Pennie

'Cause someone has to think she's super... and 'cause her surname is too hard to remember (obviously she can remember it herself...). 

Brand new to this poetry lark; something sparked it off in her, writing loads of poems since January and performing some of them at Missfit Mondays

 www.makingtheatrework.com

she has found a new way to ignore what she is meant to be doing... 

 A philosophy student mid flow slowly getting to know the world; so far it's a bit of a shame. 

You can also catch up with Pennie on YouTube

http://www.youtube.com/user/peebzzz

and Pennies Blog

http://superpennie.blogspot.com 

Can't sleep (April 09 (8))

 He can't sleep at the best of times.

Every time he tries his bloody clock chimes.

Dong. Dong. Three. Four.

Time flies by with many more.

Insomnia. Euphoria. There's ringing

in his head. Sleep trying

to grab him.

Tick tocking now instead.

His body wants a battle.

Gold rain to cause a struggle.

It's time to really snuggle up in bed,

play dead. Thread the seams

of sleep.

Fall in deep.

Beep. Beep. Beep.

Pulled round the traffic outside sounds.

Constant light through the curtains

darkness does not exist.

City boy missed his chance

sunrise dances to his eyes

rises up to the sky

melts away the snow

on the slopes as he goes.

He's falling and really hopes

he'll be ok.

Crash bang and he lands

in a getaway van.

He demands the gold.

He wants sleep but just gets real old.

Folds cards at a cost.

Not another battle lost.

Must catch Jack Frost!

He is racing for the darkness.

Back at his desk.

Bed wasn't working. He gives in

makes coffee

with toffee. And lives in

banoffee pie is his favourite.

Might add the sauce.

Midnight snacks and he'll not make it back.

Wack on a CD.

Easy. Bob Marley kills the banshee.

And he still can't sleep.

Tries to write a poem:

It's out there waiting.

Words he'd thrown away.

A collage of a conversation he never quite finished.

Diminishing hours and now it's make or

break.

Bakes a space cake.

Hopes it'll knock him out

but it's time for work.

Don't shirk responsibilities. Shirt on. Tie up.

And he goes out.

Office job's over; it's time to save the world.

Superman's had it so welcome

 Super

swirled into action

saves another bank.

That damsel's now his mistress.

Just another prank.

Publicity. Simplicity. Our city boy's

a joke.

He can't get to sleep.

Alarm bells ringing.

Old women singing

country songs about his wrongs.

A bloke on coke

and red bull

to cram full his mind

to find the secret poem

the pot of gold and the rainbow.

Jane Doe in the car park.

Super flies in for the win;

ftw for the nerds.

And comic boys who run in herds

and have radioactive toys

which destroy and deploy

all sorts of noise.

He looks up, like crack eyes

no sleep so it's not wise

and sore like a disguise

it's evil just tell lies.

He can't sleep.

Puppy dog eyes he never grew out of

make love up above

wet gloves

once more. Reaching for the

scotch. One more notch.

Gets way too hot.

Sweat trying to escape from every pore.

He can't take much more. Fallen pictures

line the floor. Cocktail pitchers

hold the door.

And he still can't sleep.

Rolls over to a phone call. Ring. Ring.

Recalling his absence from work this morning.

He's mourning his sleep

but he says it's his cat;

she got fat and died and now he just cries

and he's sorry

don't worry

he'll be in by 10

tomorrow. AM.

He's sorry he slept in

he won't do it again.

Conversations

with myself

She talks to herself

when no one's around.

They call it thinking aloud,

but I don't see the difference.

Conversation turns to argument

when things just don't get through.

When things can't be approved.

When she can't talk to you.

There is no you;

the words don't work with anyone.

And it's exhausting

asking open questions no one can close.

And 'spose they know,

it's all too slow

and she just falls below the line.

What's hers does not exist.

Empty happiness.

It's all a lie.

All we do is wonder why.

And getting nowhere,

she talks to herself.

It's like a prayer to a hidden shelf no one can see,

and voices come to comfort her

but all they do

is riddle her

belittle her

the bourgeoisie gave their guarantee;

but sat below her caffeine tree,

it baffles her.

And she can't see what's meant for her,

their detainee

trapped without the fucking key!

She talks to herself

when no one's around.

They call it thinking aloud,

but I don't see the difference.

Trapped by a shrinking fence

it's no coincidence

that this is so intense.

Everything she can sense is

wrong

and everything she sensed is

 gone.

And all she does is argue.

She can't climb out.

You can't get in.

The loneliness gets painful.

When she's alone

she talks to herself.

Conversations aloud.

Trying to see through that

 misty cloud

masking everything

her own boxing ring

wrestling herself to the

 ground.

Just going round and round in

 fucking circles.

Ringing bells that no one

 answers

lost in hell - her personal

 cancer

She talks to herself

when no one's around.

They call it thinking aloud,

but I don't see the difference.

Pennie Varvarides

(c) Copyright 2009