Words written in maths class

words i wrote when it seemed that everything was back to front and odd.

this pen  made 2 million rand and now writes the words of a saddened adolescent cheated by the guided works of young adult books

this pen just ran out of ink

wear your sadness on your sleeve

show your heartbreak 

hold your head up

and wear your socks odd

the artists felt something i will never posses in my conscious thoughts and words

the world appeared upside down paired with mismatched  cutlery and a glare from her mother

i want Dali to illustrate my dreams

while Turner  tampers with my nightmares to create a cacophony

 of heaven found in a boy who i loved.

wearing buttons in your hair

and clips on your coat to a garden tea party

spit in the sandwiches 

sneeze in the cordial

become a dismay of the dictionary to put your name in the thesaurus

A side way street for existential crises

and another for the addicts 

do not become your medication

do not conform to your prescription 

do not write poetry in maths class 

Cupboard

Cupboard

(a pantry)

let us hide in our sanctuary of dried fruits and spices

where did the cat go?

a hide and seek game is essential in between the biscuits and sugar

watch the ants form renaissance art in search for the honey

where did you put that homemade jam?

ink your childhood lovers name in the cracks so mother wont see

lick icing sugar off fingers when the tears are salty and splattered

drop the flour and create a snowstorm in the summer

make a rainbow in the spice rack 

a city with the bowls and plates 

let your imagination drip with the syrup 

watch the ants 

and hope that you wont be found.

Bliss

Bliss

B is for bliss

The frozen-cherry-summer lips bliss

evil ignorant bliss

Cold toes and rotten milk bliss

The evil ignorant bliss

Bliss for stony pavements,melting ice creams

The bliss of red scratches oozing red blood

The Bliss of the unknown

Our forgotten bliss for each other

B is for Bliss.

The Apple

An Apple 

An old man gives himself to you and becomes an apple

Your apple

This apple is the apple of your eye

Hidden in your pocket is the apple

Until it starts to rot

To rot and mold

To produce the stench of death it does

Your apple

You take your rotten burden everywhere with you

Young children wont be alone in a room with you

Family wont look you in the eye

You carry the apple until you begin to rot

Turning black and moldy

Until you give yourself to someone else

And become an apple

Their apple

An apple of their eye

A death to their existence

Their apple.

With the luck of lust

Here it is

Me in my gold framed glasses

 And you in your unshined shoes

We are the scuff marks of this party

Seen and unspoken of

Apparently we are in love

 Apparently we are part of a cult

Our punch glasses are empty since no one offers us a drink

The music is not of our taste, god don’t you just love techno?

There’s whispers that we’ve just snorted coke in the loo and I have heroin pock marks

The blonde girl closet to us giggles that we wear our underwear inside out

But to heck with that, we dance and chatter as if it was just us

And it is

The techno isn’t too bad when we waltz and I definitely enjoyed the tango to deephouse

My!

 We must come to uninvited parties more often

With the luck of lust there’s one tomorrow.

The Beginning.

Hello there!

After being tired of scribbling poetry and being too scared to show it to anyone,

I have decided to start a little blog to jot down all the strange words that come to my head and hopefully connect with others who enjoy the works of poetry.

My grammar is not particularly the best and neither is my spelling so please try and bear with me.

Certain subjects in my works are not afflicted with anyone particular nor is there an underlying meaning in any of my work unless i have expressed it before hand.

All poems are original unless started otherwise.

I hope you enjoy the words as much as i have enjoyed the process.

happy reading!

Izzy