I have a reserve about poetry events. Even at its most oblique, poetry must be one of the most personal forms of expression we have. And since there is a current trend of poetry being confessional, these events have, even with the bravado of slam, become a place where people expose themselves to an audience. In essence, we go to see people’s truths- putting them in a vulnerable position. Still, I can handle the truth, but what if I don’t like their poems?
Tag Archives: Poetry
My Mirror lies to me.
Instead of showing me my face, it shows me a
Full of hyacinths, daisies and daffodils, a veritable Garden of Eden
So why aren’t they all there when I need them
Roaming the streets of London
Westminster, Angel and EC1,
The ears stand down to Gould, Ravel and Lennon
The eyes have it: as they pass there is a moment
Of the everlasting approach, as they encroach
On my person.
Look down, look left, look right
But even using all of my might
The image I remembered
So full of smoulding embers
Is long gone: every one a faceless judge
Until my brain turns to sludge
And my fears and worries do their star turn
In rubies, emeralds and Armani
My own creation, my own evil army
Hey remember, remember when you cried in the street?
When you tripped over your own feet?
Once again, my brain, now sleet, turns against me.
Dances, pirouettes around me, wearing my face of Eve,
Wiping my eyes now on my sleeve,
Poking, prodding: the judges have long since disappeared
And yet they were just the appetizer, what I honestly feared
Takes it’s bejeweled bow, shimmies, winks at me
Honestly and truthfully, my mirror lies to me.