The Joy of Nits
Headlouse dance as agile ballerinas across a small childs skull
And believe the truth as im only good at that
I havent seen one for a while
Its hard to confess
That i actually miss
Foriging the tresses of my little sprigs
Salivating
Eyes dancing
Hither and tither
To and fro
As if anyone would
Id always know
Where on earth the little devils would go
I know their lifecycle
Lifespan
And im ever so proud to admit that i can
Spot one
At fifty paces
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poem by Karen Sinclair
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Spit, Sawdust and The Farcicle Spaghetti Western
Last night within the spit and sawdust of..
The White Horse...(public house)
Swinging tail
Whilst I chose to sail
Far too... close to the wind, smiling at.
Friend foe and bartenders
As I dived need er ly
Within the whit/ering beer goggles
Of vodka and whatever...
I mean after all... after the shit day we'd had
Lost a home gained a flat, lost said flat..
Crap...
Homeless in two weeks
Yet in sane day
Finding another flat
Not bad but drat...wasn't exactly the hovel of my dreams
So
I chose to swim in vodka
Heaven
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poem by Karen Sinclair
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Poetry Cafe's... Steven Fry... And A Most Annoying Me
I wanna go to a poetry cafe....
In a pink beret and two giant earrings
Sporting a very serious intelligent expression which is obviously not my own
So ill borrow it from some super being like Steven Fry
Just for the night (he can sit at home looking daft, looking me)
As i fly into the realms of fantasy
Stood in all my regalia, pink floral wellies and beige checkered hacking jacket
Purple courderoys
Spilling my beans
My limited means of getting my
Very
Unimportant
Point across.....
Whilst
The avante guarde and Mrs Bohemian nod and shake
As my word snake slithers from my agile tongue
The one which spits bile
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poem by Karen Sinclair
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I Hate Lucy
I met her one blurry New Years eve
She who would hang as a glorious ornament, from your sleeve
Back in those times of hours, no sand
I can picture her (now grasping) your lovely hand
She was tall and elegant
Two credits i am not
Flawless skin with a smile that niggled my spot
Legs which reached nearly my belly button urrrr
And gosh i really hated her....
Dressed in finery which enhanced her look
Me in my drunken state easily mistook
That this devine creature with teeth glowing pearls
Was just a mere friend and glorious golden curls
And i liked her....
And she made us smile
She was just so perfect
Your ex
Beguiled
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poem by Karen Sinclair
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Misery.....Shanghai Moon
Tears hung as re-guarded chandeliers
Unwelcome and yet they arrive
The entourage of my mourning glory
And she was my morning glory
A bright turquoise Shanghai parasole in a brilliant summers day
Creates emerald green on brass reflections
Did you know that? i never did till yesterday
And two black candles lit (lit hours later)
Post the momentary
Missing you's beneath Shanghai's moon
It not the real form of the wax which drips as tears past the glass
Of remnant wine bottles towards one perfect garden table which holds thoughts
Nor the dancing flickering all whimsical
Flames
No
No
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poem by Karen Sinclair
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Evening Rose
The dusty window frames her form
Silhouetting her fragility as evening falls
With hands as gnarled oak
Clasping the unvarnished rocking chair
Her painfully crooked feet gently cause a methodical tone
Upon the now jaded rug...
Hypnotic as time...
Head relaxed tilted window bound her mind caresses visions of times
Long gone...
Where once there was enthusiasm, adoration
Frantic breaths within desired moments
Where she had grasped in exploration
Whilst he relished her soft young form....
During those poignant snapshots
Within a moment of staid meandering
Her eyes fall upon her now withered hand
A stark reminder of where she sits now...
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poem by Karen Sinclair
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Poetry Groups and Aaron Jumpers...
Red checkered carpet and mahogany wood dominate
Guinness, beer and wine stand politely
Reflective
The eclectic gathering of minds and smiles
Litter the room as left over christmas baubles
While one voice swoons across the ceiling to fall on ravenous ears
Smiles in therapy
And memory slip over the rickety stiles of childhood
As eyes wide shut dance or skipping hypnotically
As an exuberant uncontrollable child on a windy day
Create their own beautiful masterpieces from the words lain for all to dream
A sigh
A scratch
A rustling peanut packet to distract
The odd glance searching the sea of eyes for recognition, acceptance, hope or a mere smile
Where aaron jumpers distract
Why do aaron jumpers make one think of catalogues, hearty meals and most of all love
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poem by Karen Sinclair
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Tyson
Tyson
Your flesh is gone now, your pains no longer an issue
Your hobble upon three legs no longer a guilty pleasure
Your personality no longer obtainable
Your breath no longer sea_like
Your pattering paws upon laminate no longer available to witness as a pitter patter behind my lonesome soul
Following me to all corners of my world
Tyson your eyes are no longer there oozing warmth and compassion just to compete for my lunch
My love
My smiles
Yet you still loiter, your warmth your soft yet sharp fur which pierced my skin, more than once
Your yelps which pierced my heart a few times
Your eyes gazing out at me at the vets as you bravely stood your last battle
Gazing up at me
Proudly desperately
Expressing in your last moments (before that dreadful medicine wiped you out and rested you forever)
Saying look at me, my best friend the one who will betray me in my last few years (steal them from me)
I CAN STAND! !
In my basket, in the vets, just before you become my hang-mans noose
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poem by Karen Sinclair
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Seahorses.....
Once I had a real little seahorse encased in perspex
Laying starkly beside a tiny piece of seaweed (which was grey green)
Entombed forever
Laid majestically out for my lively enquiring five year old eyes to gaze upon
Guts severed
Gifted by well meaning adults at Christmas
In man made perspex a man made hole through the top
So i could wear him around my chubby neck
Whilst his dear little eyes just gazed out dead and dusted
Pitifully hollow
I wrestled with my conscience I could not wear him
He was not meant as a mere trinket
He was just a stolen life which haunted me
Yet i felt a duty
If he died for me, the least i could do was look
Appreciate uncomfortably
I mislaid him eventually
Was my relief.....
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poem by Karen Sinclair
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Sticky Survival..........Childhood memories.....Mum
Mum
Sat hugging the Red Bible on your life-station
The sofa....
But never reading it....not since our loss
Eyes raise as i enter, as two solemn pools of acceptance
Resignation,
You are in your forever spot
Now
Till your lonesome end
Slowly mellowing a large round hole in the butt cushion
Gazing out on rooftops that glisten with no intent
You dear mother in your solitude depression agony
Are hellbent
To pursue doctors advice
Pills and appointments
Each time gravely escaping....dreaded death
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poem by Karen Sinclair
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