My knuckles are raw from the cold subway pole,
and the guy next to me smells like damp wool and cheap coffee.
He’s staring at a cracked phone screen,
his thumb scrolling past headlines, dinners, divorces.
We don’t talk.
Nobody talks here.
But under his heavy black winter coat,
somewhere behind his lint-covered tie,
a small fist of muscle is slamming against his ribs.
Thump.
It’s a clumsy, desperate noise,
like an old radiator knocking in a basement.
It keeps time against the black tunnel outside the window,
a persistent thudding negotiation with the dark
that just asks for enough time to get to Tuesday.
We walk around pretending we own the sidewalk,
worrying about the rent, the teeth that need fixing,
the text message left on "read."
Every wet breath is a lease renewal
signed in the dark without our permission.
I look at the girl across from me,
her eyeliner smudged from a long shift.
Her chest rises.
The cold world looks the other way,
indifferent,
and lets her have another minute to figure it out.
It’s not a grand design.
It's just a truce.
A messy, fragile truce,
kept alive by a pound of red meat
stubbornly refusing to stop hitting the wall.
I don't want to be a processed human
warm thumpads on click screen
cant put my hands in my pcokets
pockets filled with sand
cup of dirt by my table
Orange fire tree, a beauty, shivers in gray
I am not aware of me
when nature bears to see its swaying leaves
there's glory in the metal squeak of a guitar string
feel dead wood, relief, plastic wrapped child roses
Smell the green on harvested before bloom
The blood crust on my ear
monstrous scratching between straw hair of a dead scalp makes me want to rip skin out
Ocean water take me there but i hear electric of cars every step
bushes square
trees baby leaves
bloomed too late to turn green
Watch a movie set in italy you feel the vibrations of the screen
make your face red; silent scream
pop ups, plastic warmth
cling to the radiator through polyester, spine compressed and half your bed taken by an amass of wires and clunk: heavy mess to project reality
My veins pump blood spray when cut
I'm a real human transmitting consciousness through things i never knew
drained my energy in this scry mirror: to be human is selfish, AI helps with all but takes root to steal yourself and sell it back to you
~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~
Snowdrifts swallow streets~
the city holds its breath,
counting cracks in ice.
Somewhere, a radiator sings
of warmth we'd almost forgotten.
What sits in stillness
What breathes back life
into heaving, dusted lungs
What holds space for this outline of my body
Traced by your alabaster hands
like dandelions on my skin
A feather touch
with the cadence of a humming bird
What comes down on my outstretched arms
like the warmth of an old radiator
Tink tink tink on my open shoulders
What brings me back to the calmness of the sea
What rushes in my heart
like a heavy tide, flowing into me swiftly
yet with the patience of an oyster
What is drawing in delicate aromas
Awakening my senses
allowing me to taste the sweetness
of the earth again
What could ever bring me the peace
of a dove
But to be here with you
my love
we came up same building,
same busted elevator, same rumors in the walls —
three girls stacked on top of each other
like secrets whispered through radiator pipes.
6S - she’s half rican, half black,
but don’t call her half - she all attitude,
dark skin glowing when she laughs too loud,
hips slick like she dancing with nobody’s permission.
5E - 5’1 and built like a threat,
she got a stare that’ll stop you mid-lie.
she hate surprises, so we never sneak up -
she come knocking first if you do her wrong.
then me - 7N, freckles spread like stars on light skin,
red-brown hair tied up, book in my lap,
content to stay inside while they chase block heat.
they pull me out anyway - stoop nights, corner gossip,
big dreams that don’t always fit our pockets.
we so different it make no sense -
three girls shaped like soft rebellion,
like hard lessons, like love
that never needed no permission slip.
puberty tried to twist us up,
boys tried to break us open,
life threw her worst
and we just leaned closer -
me, yaphia, tarita - same building girls,
same busted elevator,
still going up.
she walks into the room
the same way she has for 40 years—
half-asleep mumbling about the price of eggs
but crap, she still makes my heart stop.
you’re the last busted payphone
that somehow still dials home.
you’re the only damn thing
that still makes sense
in a world full of unpaid bills and
broken air conditioners.
your heart’s a busted radiator
still kicking out heat when I need it most.
The cigarette burn on our old kitchen counter—
scarred in, not going anywhere.
hell, you’re a rusted-out truck that
still starts when the whole damn world’s frozen over.
we aren’t perfect but we lasted.
and that’s better than any damn valentine poem.
For some reason the radiator is on
Some sun skimmed summer
Our ties slung in varying disrespect
Head resting against palm to feign the guise of awake
My desk scrawled with the names of ones before
some etched some gouged
A slug shaped excuse for a mammal gurgling on about that and another
As I watched glints of sunlight skip together outside
like some ethereal game of tag
For some reason the always called me mister followed by the abrasion of my second name
You are hear to learn
Like a cue my head swivelled in unison with my sigh
What can I say look at my teachers
My hands already grasping the denim straps of my makeshift bag dragging the contents and scrunching it within
Deliberately squeaking my chair to watch the vessel in his neck just a fraction more as I rose to leave the room
He still thinks he’s punishing me as I head towards the outside and what will be
I worry that my coat will murder me.
Hanging on Banister’s Edge it’s a man lurking, dark.
I’ve seen rows of killers shadowed and waiting,
hidden in the ridges of the living room radiator,
ready to pounce during a moonlit trip to the toilet.
From my position in bed, a stool could be a gremlin hunched,
the door frame a monstrous arm arching and looming, holding a hollow void.
The sheets around my feet are vines, all patterns the jaws of a Venus flytrap.
Snap.
Black cabs are hearses, flowerbeds fresh graves;
babbling brook rope swings form a noose, gravel paths stone me to death.
My cardigan knows it should be a straitjacket,
socks and watches nod knowingly towards shackles and manacles imaginary.
Cushions on a sofa? Nothing but false sense of security quicksand.
(Competition title: No 1299)
tap water to vampire
…an extra worker short
….Twitter
…iPhone child labour lawyer
…booking a meet and greet at a school for the dumb deaf and blind children for Prince Andrew…symbol would be spinning in his grave
…Brillo pad toilet paper
…politicians (people who avoid answers as a job)
…waterproof tea bags
…a kick in the teeth
…tickets for the Titanic’s second voyage
…cold caller for an under takers
…is this line written in code
…Pre dick five tetx
..a Swiss Army knife in nuclear fallout
…the reign of Charles (you might think too soon but his brother is still free)so basically em
…thaw setting on a radiator
…the word xylophone
…moon glasses
This isn’t mine but I had to share
….Anne Franks drum kit
…dissolving condom
…PlayStation controller on a submarine
..ejection seat on helicopter
…trying
…life
You may need to read the title again
That’s the job that gave him Navigator
After goodbye to Lift Operator;
Months on the TV as Moderator
And a US firms Gum Distributor…
But Bruce had not wanted Excavator,
Rather Peace-Keeping as Mediator:
“All these awkward passions for artifacts
And choosing to celebrate old facts:
Inquisitive shovels disturbing soil
One might think one is prospecting for oil;
Forbears working on their forgotten face:
Intriguing findings they’d championed the race”.
From excavation grabbed ventilator,
Also, a machine with indicator
And soon a mansion with elevator;
Impenetrable to terminator…
Still, Brice’s true love: his black navigator
The Jeep he drives dressed like Gladiator:
Smart, American with fine radiator…
The Comfort of the Radiator
There is nothing more that I love
than the whistling sound of the radiator
It signals safety in my surroundings
It keeps me encapsulated in safety and warmth
The soothing sound reminds me that all is well is well in my world
I have a lot to be grateful for
Promising visions of Thanksgiving Day Feasts, the charm and beauty that Christmas magic brings
And the brilliance of the sparkling New Year!
It soothes me bathing me in comfort of body and soul
All is harmonious
All is well
The universe is supporting me
And Good is looking down on me and tending to me.
God Bless the peaceful, unifying sounds of the radiator
The connector to outward sensation
The indicator that someone out there is looking out for me and making sure I am warm
Others are benefiting from its sounds and its crackling heat
Everything is well and in balance
Peace, my friends…..
The trees smell so real, so sympathetic.
A monument to strength and victory.
They seem like a shoulder to cry on.
Something to rely on in an uncertainty.
The birds still chirp and hold no grudge,
but rather stll try to provide a comic relief smile.
They are still playing grabass,
little cocks on the walk stealing radiator bugs.
Adorning our rule over the Earth in circular totem style.
Even though they are dropping from the sky.
Wading in infested puddles, eating Monsanto Rye.
I'm not a cryer but ....
Where did it all go?
Did reality tv and all their ugly
sided indoctrinating Media offerings do ALL this?
Did we really try to kick Lucy's football all those times, and end up on our dumb asses?
Where do we go from here?
Look for a rhyme?
Civil War, Natural Disasters, Rumors of War, Plagues, Massive Animal Die Offs, Seismic Unrest,
Incoming Asteroids.
What are we doing?
What do we do for an encore?
Maybe it is time to believe in something.
Goodnessssssssssssssssssssssssssssssssssssss.
Alone I entered the room.
Something wasn’t right.
The patio door was open.
There he was, hiding in the corner.
That was the last straw.
He’d been bothering me
and my family all week.
We were all afraid of him.
As I cautiously approached him
he went for me. Trying to evade
him I fell and cut my head
on the edge of the radiator.
Finally I managed to get the better
of him, striking him hard with
my right hand. Then I angrily
launched into him.
Didn’t know I had it in me.
After a few moments
It was all over.
he was gone. I had killed him!
I managed to get him off the floor
and carried him outside,
dumping him behind the trees
at the bottom of the garden.
I was pleased to be rid of him
before the family came back home.
Later I stood looking down the garden
through the kitchen window
to where he was. I felt a bit guilty
but was somehow relieved.
I had always hated Wasps!
At least that’s one less to bother us.
TWO LOVERS FRESH.......
I watch two lovers in fresh embrace
through my installed double glazing
they seem too young for such desire
that all embracing consuming fire....
It warms me, innocently gazing
My border yields a single bloom
he plucks, with love uncaring
and offers up springs new born child
with heart of hope and passions wild
I watch, arthritis flaring
Yet scarce the beat of an aged heart
nor the flash of a dying star
separates me from he outside
nor she from my sweet bride....
Is yesteryear so very far ?
For her I mourn most wistfully
my wife, my friend, my lover.
Her face I see in spring's first flower
her voice in winter's final shower....
how fortunate to love her
The radiator clanks and whines
and pants out breaths of steam.
It paints the glass with foggy hue
to swallow up the outside view
and terminate an old man's dream
The cat sat on the windowsill,
And stirred a little in his sleep.
Each breath a cloud upon the glass
And outside the snow was falling fast
The children all went out to play,
But he couldn’t be bothered to move today.
The radiator hummed, and the woman hummed,
And the cat hummed in his sleep.
And all about the little house,
The snow was getting deep.
The woman sat beside the fire,
And sung a merry little tune.
As she sung, back and forth she rocks,
Darning a pair of colorful socks.
Her hair is turning silver-gray,
But you’d never believe she had aged a day
Since she and the cat and a box full of shoes
Came to the house on the dune.
And all about the little house,
The snow reflected the moon.
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