Tag Archives: Poetry

Hall 608 to 615

  • Currently reading: The Outsider – Stephen King
  • Currently listening to: Monster – Skillet
  • Currently watching: Archer

Hall 608 to 615


The expansive network of hotel halls stretch
Away like well-ordered roots of a tree
A bronze number adorning each heavy black door
Sounds from behind each finely dressed pine
Their voices and movement draped in false privacy
Softly, clatter the empty glasses and plates
All askew upon my stubborn trolley
Its wonky rear wheel knows what hides in the wall ahead.
This is a wall that hides a vivid memory
Still hides the victim within its oaken bones
I wish I couldn’t hear her
I wish she didn’t know I could
She whispers through the tattered cloth
Broken nails from digging in the bricks
She’s pleading with my quick steps to halt
The only quicker rhythm batters my ribs from inside
She calls me by my name from behind the chintzy paper
I can smell the moist mortar of her breath
A once homely warmth flees in panic from the hallway
I don’t want to stop but I cannot tell you why
The wall seems to shudder as if mocking my spine
That wonky wheel threatens to run away with me
The memory sobs at me from the depth of her spreading-damp heart
I ignore her impossible words
Wishing they were a trick of badly built acoustics
Then, the landing hits me like a plastic ribbon finish line
Breaking over my chest, reminding me to breathe
That wonky wheel snaps back into line
I secretly hope to myself
That when I have children
their goading chocolate voices
won’t remind me
Of the dead girl in the wall

L.S. Black 2019

Oh, Catatonia

  • Currently reading: Head Full of Ghosts – Paul Tremblay
  • Currently listening to: Unleashed – Skillet
  • Currently watching: Lucifer

::Work in Progress:: A mildly disturbing piece of poetry from a collection in progress.
A new wardens view of a patient in a catatonic state. I swing from wanting to make it more shocking to feeling like I need to reel it back a bit so perhaps this middle ground is best. I realised after this piece that I have a fascination with alliteration, if it rolls from my tongue when I say it aloud then it’s normally instantly loved. I find the technique drifting from my poetry into my short stories and longer works so occasionally I have to stop myself turning everything into an epic poem.

Oh Catatonia
 
Oh, Catatonia,
With your tone-deaf eyes that tell no lies. There is nothing inside. It’s where you hide, your mind dried and heart tide.
I’ll bide my time.   
 
Those scarlet curls,
You’re not like the other girls, with their violent swirls, coaxing pearls of blood in whirls. Spitting, they hurl themselves afar
I’ll uncurl those rings.
 
How delicate,
is your paper-thin skin? I envision touching and fuck, it makes me grin. Thinking about breaking in, waking you inside.
My mannequin.
 
For now,
bars separate us. They haven’t learnt to trust and so I must resist until I can thrust my hand through your locks of rust.
Such sweet lust.
 
Flustered, every time I see you.
Youthful, despite the years.
Tearful, on the inside.
Beside your bedside
I’ll reside till
I can have you
untied,
my impassive bride.
 
Oh…too easy?
Perhaps this doll will not fit my whole, comparing the moments I stole on the payroll. If I can’t cajole you then what’s the point.
Where’s the hunt?
 
Not today.
I’ll let you stay, unmoving behind my eyes. It’s no surprise that I prefer girls who rise and prise my hands from their thighs.
Where’s the sport?
 
Stay tucked up,
Fast awake. Your innocents I won’t take.
No move will I make to rake your skin against my skin.
I’ll wait, till you wake.
Oh, Catatonia.

L.S. Black 2019