Poem of the Week – Blousy Guitar, Hoa Nguyen

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Blousy guitar I don’t want to count the beats Hey Hey
My pen I have bed hair in the best way Daughter
of sunlight and air and I’m glad you were born
on this day or put another way: that you were

born Let’s be superstars Let’s call each other “suckas”
Turn everything into writing Lord of my Love
and eat new raw oysters with many condiments
to lord & love to be generally great

The flopping flowers that die in a poem
Summer solstice smacks me in the face ridiculous
and I dream the different like a naked sonnet
Your raw throaty laugh submerged under hot noodles

I wrote “valley” when I meant “longing”
Your laugh a river A trout kind of green

Hoa Nguyen

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Not Yours

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When are you giving me back my sleep?
You keep me awake so late each night,
I watch the sky creep dark to light,
And it’s not yours to keep.

When are you giving me back my eyes?
I avoid mirrors for the fear
Of hating what I see in there,
And they’re not yours to make cry.

When are you giving me back my tongue?
It’s clamped down, pressed to roof in mouth
So words you don’t want to hear won’t come out.
It’s not yours to hold to ransom.

When are you giving me back my self?
If you won’t be what I know you could,
Don’t preach about what I should.
I’m not yours. I belong to me, no one else.

 

Favourite Poets: Alfred, Lord Tennyson – St. Agnes’ Eve

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Deep on the convent-roof the snows
Are sparkling to the moon:
My breath to heaven like vapour goes;
May my soul follow soon!
The shadows of the convent-towers
Slant down the snowy sward,
Still creeping with the creeping hours
That lead me to my Lord:
Make Thou my spirit pure and clear
As are the frosty skies,
Or this first snowdrop of the year
That in my bosom lies.
As these white robes are soil’d and dark,
To yonder shining ground;
As this pale taper’s earthly spark,
To yonder argent round;
So shows my soul before the Lamb,
My spirit before Thee;
So in mine earthly house I am,
To that I hope to be.
Break up the heavens, O Lord! and far,
Thro’ all yon starlight keen,
Draw me, thy bride, a glittering star,
In raiment white and clean.
He lifts me to the golden doors;
The flashes come and go;
All heaven bursts her starry floors,
And strows her lights below,
And deepens on and up! the gates
Roll back, and far within
For me the Heavenly Bridegroom waits,
To make me pure of sin.
The sabbaths of Eternity,
One sabbath deep and wide—
A light upon the shining sea—
The Bridegroom with his bride!

Story Time! – Finding The Words

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Hello 😊

As well as this blog for all things poetry, I also have a blog where I post all the stories I’ve written. If you’d like to take a look, head over to Telling Tales.

I’ll be posting a link a week to a story if you’re interested – I’ll warn in advance if it’s nsfw but please check the tags on the story before you read!

This week: Finding The Words

 

 

Poem Of The Week: The Expiration, John Donne

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So, so, break off this last lamenting kiss,
    Which sucks two souls, and vapours both away;
Turn, thou ghost, that way, and let me turn this,
    And let ourselves benight our happiest day.
We ask none leave to love; nor will we owe
    Any so cheap a death as saying, “Go.”
Go; and if that word have not quite killed thee,
    Ease me with death, by bidding me go too.
Or, if it have, let my word work on me,
    And a just office on a murderer do.
Except it be too late, to kill me so,
    Being double dead, going, and bidding, “Go.”