something and nothing

Cherry

By sid

Mon, 02 Apr 2012
  • 8198 reads
29 comments
 

I am a room without a view

I am the crackling call
of a lone crow
strutting and
shitting
on rooftops,
laughing
laughing at you

I am a low groan
like whale-song,
drawn by an
anxious wind
from heaped and
twisted torsos of
tortured scrap

And I am the rust
that blooms mud red
like old blood, in
fields of oxide poppies,
flocks of glowing embers
in a summer dusk

You might see me
creeping through
walls,
materialising in
malevolent
black velvet,
lurking in corners,
spoiling your decor,
watching you
breathe in my
spores as you sleep

But you might
also find me
writhing in ivy,
seeking shadows and
carpeting dark places,
smothering graves,
harbouring tiny lives
beneath my
emblem leaves

Certificate PG
Poem
oranges and tangerines
Nature

Comments

Submitted by sid on
oh, thankyou very much indeed for the cherries, cherrypicker. much obliged, made my day (I have a sad life). :D

 

Submitted by insertponceyfre... on
I love the menace seeping through this

 

Submitted by sid on
Thanks for reading and commenting IPFNH, much appreciated as always. I wasn't intending it to come out so sinister, it just did!

 

Submitted by Silver Spun Sand on
Your stuff just gets better and better sid...if that's possible;-) Well done on the more than deserved cherries. Tina

 

Submitted by sid on
Thanks for your comment Silver. I think I've still plenty of room for improvement but your words are heartening all the same! Best wishes

 

Submitted by threeleafshamrock on
Nice one Sid...creepy but 'nice'. Just going to open the curtains to let a little more light in... :D Chris ;)

Submitted by sid on
Thanks very much for stopping by, Chris. The final stanza was supposed to be nice and earthy and cheering, but it seems the whole thing is just creeping everyone out!

 

Submitted by sid on
Thanks very much Mels Olive, so pleased you enjoyed :D

 

Submitted by MistakenMagic on
"And I am the rust that blooms mud red like old blood, in fields of oxide poppies, flocks of glowing embers in a summer dusk" - LOVE this stanza! It's a mix of Wilfred Owen and Sylvia Plath, and I agree with insert, there's a beautifully intriguing menace in this! Magic xxx

 

Submitted by blighters rock on
Claustrophobically damp, and stuffy, but not in the snooty sense; in essence. Atmospheric and haunting, but with the hushed voice of a breathless forest covered in creaky snow. (Now there's a line! see what your writing makes me do.) This Vincent Price poem stalked me as it slowly cloaked me, causing me to think the dark thoughts of Mog, looking around but knowing, almost with relief, that in fact I am my own worst enemy, which is ridiculous but true in so many ways. If there were bets going on it, I'd put money down on you being a laureate in ten years. Only you can mess it up! The really scary thing about your work is that you're still only (just) 25. I was writing shite about bringing in laws to flog twats who got stuck in yellow grids at traffic lights at that age. What I really like about you is that you really don't think you're up to much, and that's your strength, for the moment. Soon, though, you'll have to accept that your words are profoundly beautiful. At that time, God willing, you'll be in a place where you can embrace it.

 

Submitted by sid on
MistakenMagic, thanks so much for reading and commenting. I hate to admit it but I've never read much poetry, vaguely remember studying Wilfred Owen from studying WW1 poets at school, is that right?! Anyway I shall be looking them both up and really appreciate you stopping by. Parson Thru, everyone seems to be finding this poem creepy, oddly enough I found it strangely comforting when I was writing it. I just like the idea that everything has its own presence. Thanks a lot for commenting, I don't mind at all I'm delighted that you were struck with it. Blighters Rock, you must stop this, saying such nice things, how will I ever fit my head through the door? Oddly enough, I almost included a stanza about the eerie silence of a pine forest, so I am delighted that the poem put you in a similar frame of mind. It's like I said it without even saying it! Are you Derren Brown? Thanks a lot for commenting :D

 

Submitted by sid on
Oh and by the way, I AM the twat stuck in the yellow grid, so I'm glad your poetry never came to the attention of the Powers That Be :D

 

Submitted by blighters rock on
I wasn't doing poetry back then. More social commentary for rags. And if you're the twat stuck in the grid, watch out for tickets with photos in the post. Those cameras are good for some things.

 

Submitted by seashore on
Just getting round to catching up on some reading (though not ready to write yet!) and so glad I found this one, sid. Beautiful piece of writing.

Submitted by sid on
great just to have you back, seashore. Thanks a lot for reading and commenting. I imagine you're like a dormant volcano right now, bubbling away, before long you'll explode brilliant writing all over the place :D

 

Submitted by Sooz006 on
Poe and Karloff, hybrid with Bronte, wearing a big purple hat on the top. Perfect.

 

Submitted by sid on
Ah thanks for reading Sooz, don't know how your lovely comment escaped my notice

 

Submitted by sid on

 

Submitted by sid on

 

Submitted by sid on

 

Submitted by lavadis on
Masterful and magnificent

 

Submitted by sid on
Hello lavadis, kind of you to call in. Your poetry has been kicking ass lately

 

Submitted by lavadis on
I just wish you would write more - you are an artist with words

 

Submitted by TVR on
Hi again, sid. You are a versatile young writer. Your poetry is no less potent than your prose, and yes, I have to agree with one of the above comments... there were shades of Sylvia Plath in this. Really nice and charismatic poem. Well done. Trev

TVR

Submitted by sid on
Thank you for reading, Trev, and stopping to comment. Really must read some Sylvia Plath

 

Submitted by Denzella on
If she were alive she mjght benefit from reading you. Very atmospheric and descriptive but I kept thinking of mushrooms growing in the damp dark places. I didn't find it creepy more intriguing. Moya
 

Submitted by sid on
Hi Denzella, thanks for reading. I'm glad it didn't creep you out as I wasn't really going for creepy when I wrote it. Thank you for commenting, dead chuffed you like it

 

Submitted by VeraClark on
This reminded me of Charlotte Perkin Gilman's short story 'The Yellow Wallpaper'. It has a creeping, illusory effect that stains you. One of the best poems I have read on this site not just because of awe-inspiring language, but because it reads so visceral and shape shifting. You can't pin it down which is its absolute strength. For me (and I say 'me' because I am putting an interpretation on it, rightly or wrongly) it reminds me of a certain kind of insanity.

 

Submitted by sid on
Wow, thank you so much Vera. I will have to look up that story. Yes, I suppose I was a bit mad when I wrote it. And still am