Swimming In these swimming baths Hands become lotuses Swimming past my bathing capI have raspberry varnish On my wriggling toesI remember when I was young The rubbery water-beetle The size of my mulberry fist Breaking the surface of chlorine Somehow darkly swimming amongst our fruit.
I Am A Pomegranate Today.
I am a POMEGRANATE today. If you slice open my brain You will find raspberry coloured POMEGRANATE seeds of the same, identical thoughts Brain washing organisations and countries Would be proud to collectively call daughter Pumping bullets into my pumkin Head, spitting seeds of my sticky blood.
My fingers are BANANNAS Frying sausage, pan spitting fat onto my quivering bottom lip, tossed onto blank plate Picked up by my avarice fingers onto evolution fork. My heart is a pumping blood tomato And my early wrinkled eyes Plumstones I have spat out of sex mouth Into my astonished hands!
Somewhere there is a shivery grove With burning globes against struggling green flesh. I eat blood red oranges all day Squealch them warmly on fun tongue Pick their straggling flesh from between even teeth Drink cupfuls of concentrate orange, watching afternoon TV about me My chirpy tongue become blood red orange They`ve dumbed me down again! Later on I will roll up a stocking leg
Then later it gets rolled off sweaty again. Today I am a vivid raspberry POMEGRANATE seed penetrated on top of a pin.
Kitchen Sink Window I stare out of my kitchen sink window at the gymnasium. A "pfft" of cloud floats by. My boyfriend`s delicate hands squeeze for dear life my bared breasts. Anyone in the gymnasium could watch us, if they were looking, and not slavishly riding on exercise-bikes cycling kilometre after kilometre across digital landscapes. After his brittle hands finish the oriflamme sky has turned to jade and I come, les petite mortes, petite mortes!" (little deaths) with him nowhere near me.
Flower "Please don`t pull up that flower! I want them to continue living!"
The mother thrusts them into the hand Of her daughter growing out of her pushchair.
I notice the rubbish crate Overflowing with empty whiskey bottles Outside the old peoples home Creeping under cover of dark Delivering a delicious bottle of whiskey! What a morning to wake up to!
Don`t Piss In Men`s Mouths! u no when u rlly reddy 2 cum + u no u r goin 2 xplode in hss mth butt frightennd ur goin 2 piss in his mth inted? I dd 1ce + he wssnt himpressed, butt I ill wnt du agn!
Unnaturally Cold Spring The pigeon is on top of the pigeon It does not take long.
A Gull A Gull collects pastry confectionary paper A gust of a Cigarette packet
Supermarket Check Out She stoutly puts the essentials of life on the supermarket check-out, the one in front of me. Alas eggs, milk, pasta, bread, sausage, toilet roll. I am afraid she has formed an opinion I am frivolous as she looks at my long till receipt crammed in so little space on the checkout. A bottle of MOET champagne, silky stockings (the most expensive in the supermarket) , a glossy magazine of today`s Art, oozings of fizzy cakes, oranges (lots of oranges!), caviar to wake up to and my favourite dark chocolate (family size, though I am, at present, hopeful, of not being with child!) I look at her ringed hands looking at my un-ringed hands, the checkout boy hands comparing her essential provisions against my essential provisions! Alas! And all my whims to keep me going through the day, of the most expensive sort! You must think I am very shallow. But the finest things in hard life are very precious to me. Is it not for you?
Hmmph! I hear the curtains wolf-whistle Along my little sleepy street As she minxes on by Anything she can do, I will do better.
I minx along my little sleepy street But not one curtain moves, Not one flicker, even Like her, dressed from head to toe in shocking pink!
Every day at times a changing she minxes At me, every day the curtains Flicker, as if the not breaths Of life has disturbed them.
I try everything, slowly, Look at me balanced on one foot, tippy-toes, In black, in white, short, tall! My thin grin I have made curvy!
Until hmmph (why had I Not covered every eventuality?) She is stunned in her tracks By me, only little me,
She is arrested by the arm I have pinned up her shallow back By the heavy swollen fruit of my eyes She will purr on Soft down of my cheek.
Naked I am going naked Into the world tonight I am not going to be embarrassed The smoulder of my eyes That too often smoulder I am firm bodied and fondled It would not matter if I were Slack bodied and unfondled I shall walk into your room And meet your level and roving gaze. I go unto you The naked Apollonia Vitelli.
Through The Eyes And Ears Of Apollonia Vitelli Watching the dancing leaves of the blue shadows on the electronically purred down blood crimson dress of the shop shutters I became the eye, or rather I should say a vision, staring right through the vision at the back of my eye, into those purring dancing leaves patterning shutter-dress. I wonder if anyone I know will vision me sea-shore shushing inside my pearllike ears as I see the dancing leaves of the blue shadows on the purred down red crimson dress of the shop shutters?â€? Staring down from my tiny balcony, I despatch my little meal of sweet cold tomato joined against the salty warm ham despatched deliciously into my little belly, I watched the dancing leaves of the blue shadows on the electrically purred down crimson dress of the shop shutters. I wondered aloud, startling myself, what the silly old sweet black shawl woman across the street, on her identical balcony of sweet cold tomato joined with salty warm ham despatched into her little belly, sees with her terrible age and experience, in the shadows on the electronically purred down shop shutters? Alas no matter! I listened to discord to create accord. Bum note opera in shower. Screeched car brake! An oath! A skid and off! The faint thud of leaf bouncing of purry cat`s head. I slowly arched my purring back. I became the eye, or rather I should say a vision, staring right through the back of my eye, into those purring dancing leaves patterning shutter-dress. I wonder if anyone I know will imagine me sea-shore shushing inside my pearl ears as I see the dancing of last year`s leaves of the blue shadows on the purred down blood crimson dress of the shop shutters?
Through The Eyes And Ears Of Apollonia Vitelli ...â€?Watching the dancing leaves of the blue shadows on the electronically purred down blood crimson dress of the shop shutters I became the eye, or rather I should say a vision,
staring right through the vision at the back of my eye, into those purring dancing leaves patterning shutter-dress. I wonder if anyone I know will vision me sea-shore shushing inside my pearl-like ears as I see the dancing leaves of the blue shadows on the purred down red crimson dress of the shop shutters?â€? Staring down from my tiny balcony, I despatch my little meal deliciously into my little belly as I watch the dancing leaves of the blue shadows on the electrically purred down crimson dress of the shop shutters. I wondered aloud, startling myself, what the sweet black shawl woman across the street, on her identical balcony with identical meal despatched into her little belly, sees with her terrible age and experience, in the shadows on the electronically purred down shop shutters? Alas ! I listened to discord to create accord. Bum notes operetta in shower. Screeched car brake! A foul word! A skid and off! The faint thud of leaf bouncing off purry cat`s head.I slowly arched my back. Watching the dancing leaves of the blue shadows on the electronically purred down shop shutter, I became the eye, or rather I should say, a vision, staring right through the back of my eye, into those purring dancing leaves patterning crimson shutter-dress. I wonder if anyone I know will imagine me sea-shore shushing inside my pearl ears as I see the dancing leaves of the blue shadows on the purred down red crimson dress of the shop shutters?â€?
Tonight Tonight I am going to click-clack to the Quay where Camus heard the hidden laughter...of the dark plunge into the Seine. It was raining. The woman had disappeared with the laughter and grimace of splash of exposed nape.
Tonight is the night I tell you I love you I love you Love you love you love you, and you. And you, I love you, and mean it this time, tonight.
The Tree We sit at the usual cafe Under the regular tree Everyday we write or scrape Something into our skin, by biro Or pen-knife or permanent felt-pen . She`s an old tree. Not bothered about our life. She`s there For us to talk to one another Under her tree arms. I`ve read somewhere trees Have biochemicals that are Light sensitive so their arms do not
Crowd out other arms. Light Is precious. The sun and moon And very faint little stars Which move around us like city lights made glow worms Under her tree arms We are all together You, me and the tree hold sweaty, burning, clammy hands and take big pecks Half-moons Into our cheeks From this morning`s fine patisserie.
My Little Street Let me tell you about my little street where my tiny apartments sit and watch the world and his charms walk by. There`s a little patisserie where the cat outside licks up crumbs with her naked pink tongue and then cleans her socks under a parked dusty car and then springs out to eat a bird. There`s a clothes shop with blue and red shutters that purrs down shut in the middle of the day and does not reopen till evening and reflects back my sticky-out tongue and red and blue hot snuffling splashing tears. Then it is evening again and I go in and buy something un-required and colourful. There`s a tree with caked dog shit at her bared feet, that in spring smiles in her new green dress, but in the late summer fades a little with the heat and demands to be fanned.. In the autumn she adds heavy juicy oozing fruits to brighten and multiply. In the winter she becomes too thin. Alas! That`s life! When it rains her leaves kiss me through snuffling tears. Her blossom confetties me! It is approaching evening. The owner`s son comes out of the cafe undressing my thoughts, and smiles, and rips up my skin until it falls like confetti off my little balcony. The rich blue and red shutters crank upward. Still the evening not moved a muscle, and the unwashed car and the cat with flicking naked pink tongue beneath. And on the dusty bonnet my initials have been put inside someone else`s initials. By the crossing new hate grafitti keeps springing up . If he sent me word, and wiped out those words, I would like to love him.
A Parental Visit I am taking a meal with my mother and father. I have put out my mother`s favourite flowers. My mother sits straight backed, elegant, a beautiful woman I hope I grow up to. She knows I admire her kept young looks and that my father admires proudly both our individual beauties. I have washed behind my ears! My parents smell of rosewater. Our cold drinks are sipped in small talk and contemplated, not so easy, silences. We take our leave, chairs scraped, breathed in pecks on rough and smoothed over cheeks, agree to a date and time of next time oh what if there is no next time?
The Dinner Party
There! The plateful is right or have I given too much for one mouth? Are the textures, colours and varieties in balance, in accordance with Mother Nature? Will the complemented taste on my unruly tongue balance on their sophisticated tongues? Is sour and sweet flaming? Is both crisp and tender sweetly fashionable again? I never lose sight that this banquet is made from the land of my mother and fathers and their mothers and fathers, to the original mother and father. I hear the appreciative noises, their clucks of hens. I see the pleasurable widening of eyes and ripenings of mouths, and suddenly feel a speck on the earth by the giant ocean. Oh I cry to my soul! And the trembling of my fingers to the table laden.
Philosophical bitter-sweet fiction flashes. The world today seen through the eyes of this Anglo-Italian young woman.
Published on Jan 14, 2020
Philosophical bitter-sweet fiction flashes. The world today seen through the eyes of this Anglo-Italian young woman.