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Best Poems Written by Phillip Landers

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I had a bath in the dark the other night.
Left the radio off.
Mum came home early that day,
I could hear her boots clattering on the tiled floor.
I sank further under the water, and exhaled shame.
It clouded the tiles, and found
The heart which I had drawn only last week, Now dripping and deformed, 
Framing my girlfriends name.
I shuddered at the memory,
And sank still lower into the bath.
The heart leered at me. I scrubbed it out, And scratched in the one word I had left 
inside, It had swallowed all the other words, and now sat there bloated.
Transferred to the glass it looked obscene.
My mum never let me say it, it was naughty to say The G word.

Time to leave,
A BandB tonight and then,
Who knows?
As I passed my mother, a vicious hiss,
“There goes the martyr.” 
I turned, but said nothing, how could I?
I was drained after
Purging apology after apology.
She took a deep breath,
And in the tiny moment before she spoke, A strange alien voice spilled from my 
“I love her mum”
For the first time,
She stopped, and looked at me.
I couldn’t help feeling smug, vindictive, She finally understood what silence was 
like, It was her turn.
And, as I repeated the words, in my harsh new voice, She shattered, and wept.
Because we both knew,
Is more than her and Dad ever had.

Copyright © Phillip Landers | Year Posted 2007

Details | Phillip Landers Poem

Coming Clean

The taste of you is still sharp on my tongue.
Beside me your form, vulnerable in sleep, 
Unaware of the stroke of my hand along your spine.
All day I gaze at the gentle swell of my stomach, 
Patterned with traces of silver and brown,
Your greying hair.

I’m sick of this routine.
Afterwards, you doze and I think.
I cannot stand to look at you,
Poisoned as you are, I am far more content 
To comb over the many images and scenes of us I have in my mind,
A library perhaps you could call it.

Each time we are “together,”
I can’t help looking at your contorted face,
It amazes me to see so many thick, oozing emotions, 
Growing at an almost grotesque rate.
They remind me of garden weeds.  
In a struggle, they easily lose their thorned plumes, 
But always leave a resilient root, embedded deep,
Soon to flourish again and willingly present itself 
For another wounding.

I am nothing like you.
I’m pure, like an angel.
Typically vindictive, your catlike body,
Curls against mine, and tries to argue otherwise.
Its useless, you should know that
Chastity is not purity, 
Merely similar in its perversity.

Your phone flashes your husbands name,
But you’re too busy dozing to move, 
Snorting and grunting in you sleep, 
Roast beef or pasta, which meal tonight?
I now also feel drowsy, satisfied.
I have left my scent on you, and now you are my territory.
I will store the memory in the library for later.

Same time tomorrow? 
I can predict it.
You will arrive indignant, complaining that
I’m so silent, impassive and unresponsive.
You mean nothing to me.
Self indulgent, wallowing in your sin.

God bless my purity.
An infection in a tender wound,
Stripping me away piece by piece, 
Leaving me bare, exposed and empty.
Purity is just defeat, and I am long lost,
Be it a blessing or a curse,
It’s in the blood.

A faint smile escapes me as I think of us,
Weaving our immaculate dance,
And I think of my purity,
Like a dancer’s failed pirouette.
As we lie here,
The eight wonder of the world.

Copyright © Phillip Landers | Year Posted 2007

Details | Phillip Landers Poem

Lost Love

And so we stand here naked and vulnerable,
Age revealing its twisted truth;
A new breed of dismal innocence,
To the flower of my teasing youth.

Am I but a broken vessel?
My fruit long ripened, far from the tree.
A blaze of glory now long subdued,
A whisper of a memory.

Awkward and exposed in our bed,
I endure your fumbling, guilty touch.
Confessing to my aching flesh,
Too little feeling… or too much?

What else to do, but again recite
That old, weak and dusty cliché.
An involuntary reflex it spills from my lips,
For lack of anything else to say.

I know it cannot go on forever,
Merely three words to stifle the pain.
But you are all I have left my darling,
So lets live the lie once again.

Copyright © Phillip Landers | Year Posted 2007

Details | Phillip Landers Poem


Dark, twisted stiletto,
Crouched and feral at the end of my bed.
It’s my night off tonight, 
Or it was supposed to be until the doorbell rang.
Show him on up, a girl has to eat.

Hello again sir, 
The handcuffs are next to my teddy bear,
I’m sorry I wasn’t in lesson today.
Don’t mess with me darling,
I’m older than I look.
Next time your paying, I don’t come cheap,
But if you hold me for a bit longer, Ill cut the cost.

The weekend descends like an October cloud,
A nice little trip to town I think,
Drum up business.
I sit right at the back of the bus, just so people know who’s in charge.
If you talk during the remembrance day silence again,
Ill show you trouble.

An afternoon spent blowing smoke rings at kids,
Their smiles get me every time.
The police caught us drinking again,
Idiots, what do they know?
Do you really want to help Mr Policeman?
Then get me my daddy back.
He made me feel loved, really special,
Like a princess.
None of this handcuff rubbish.

Another clueless councillor has left me,
Just like all the others, struggling to forget,
And succeeding.
But I do have one lasting memento,
On my floor a hint of sparkle,
She always wore such pretty earrings,
Twirling in the light, dancing and obscene as she spoke.
Snatched. It serves her right. 
She’ll have earache tonight the silly girl.
It is as she once said,
The world is simply not ready for a star like me.

Copyright © Phillip Landers | Year Posted 2007

Details | Phillip Landers Poem

The Lunatics Reverie

I knew you wouldn’t leave me for long.
Loathe the maverick? I would do, but
Mummy always told me not to hate.
You and I shall be friends, 
Resting forever in this rapture.

How quaint,
Those dark intricacies become you,
Woven gently into that blanket of yours,
Such a beautiful blanket…
Subject to availability of course.

Dear diary, dear diary,
Chicken nuggets for tea today.
I’m just a poor little baby,
Silly siege mentality, foolish Freudian shadow,
Your bittersweet halo scorches my skull.

We fooled them. 
Content with false dominance,
Deceived by my dirty Pavlovian response, 
Nature taught me her old trick, how to exploit shallow beauty,
Like the enticing skin on rancid fruit,
To hide the rot within.

There’s no need to get cocky,
I need some time alone, its tiring 
Constantly weaving this immaculate dance,
Counterfeit angels, emerging demons, 
I’ve found a flaw in your game,
Now speak nicely, count to ten, use your indoor voice,
I feel suffocated, 
Smothered inside your brittle inferno, 
Soft collapse and rigid rebellion,
Choking on the flames, 
Burnt breath, hot noise,
Like the touch of lasting whispers,
Breaking into shivering dust, ashes
…to ashes.

Ripped screams, flailing limbs.
A difficult birth. 
Who’s the parasite? 
No matter, 
we’re both bound 
by our perverse umbilical cord. 
Let me feed, 
and in turn I shall let you tighten 
Your soothing collar around my…a…t.

Copyright © Phillip Landers | Year Posted 2007