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Sunday, April 29, 2012
Crowmarsh and London
Category: Poetry/LyricsI was a kid from Crowmarsh.
You were an alien angel,
strange-faced, all angles.
You gave me outside sweets,
full of chemicals, colours
beetle-bright and refreshing.
I swapped them for strawberries,
that whole summer
smelled of strawberries.
We talked when we tired,
damp-skinned, heavy-limbed.
You told stories that buzzed like a city,
a hive, alive with the urge
to make honey, make money,
make something of yourself.
I cocked an eyebrow, skeptical.
You kissed my nose and left.
Old Comments
This is the second time I’ve seen the word “beetle” this evening on Litmocracy. Is this the same author? If so, advise lose one beetle or not publish both beetle-involving poems in same issue. Admittedly, “beetle” is a great word.
I think the other one with “beetle” is better, but this one is great, too.
Yes, I wrote both of them. I guess I have a bit of a beetle obsession at the moment!