Saturday, 13 February 2016

(Anti-Valentines Day poems, a series of vignettes, by James WF Roberts from the upcoming SATYR collection)

(Anti-Valentines Day poems,
a series of vignettes,

by James WF Roberts
 from the upcoming SATYR collection)

Upon the dawn
the blossom knows
when love is born.

That whisper of hate
that burns through us
now, when does regret
and forgiveness ever

Dead roses lay
upon the bed
the wreath of sorrow,
haunting all our tomorrows.


Glass of wine
New body in my bed
She doesn’t talk you
barely talks at all,

Sip of Whiskey
and I can’t help but notice
that white band around
the base of her finger
Man—I sure can pick them.

She talks about the Real Housewives
and I find myself reaching for a gun.
I think my mind makes her feel legitimate
certainly not my face or my lack of income.
Her body and her face, make me feel
pornographic and adolescent.

How did we allow all this to happen?
How di we allow our world to be torn
from our control.
All those shattered pieces
those broken chips
from the kaleidoscope
emotions stuck in Jackson Pollock
and our lives have become
little more than the ultimate
Sisyphean tragedy?

Back to that glorious morning
kissing down from your neck
to your awaiting nipples.
I can feel you breathing, 
the in and out of your chest—
why does that make me more aroused—
knowing that in that moment we are one.

When we’re together nothing else exists in our world.
We danced, ate, smoked, and danced then ate and
 jumped up and down on the bed—
why do you always make me feel like
 a stupid fucking school boy? 

Do you remember we went out drinking that night—
by the time we woke up,
time you got dressed…
we only had eyes for each other walking arm in arm,
then your arm on the small of my back
don’t think
I didn’t notice how that made you
hold your breath a little
when I reciprocated.

How we fucked in the pre-dawn light.
Another morning, another bedroom

I burn myself again tonight.
Smileys all over my naked legs
and thighs.  I’ve picked up a purple haired ghoul,
can’t remember if they were born a boy or girl,
they cut a tiny hole right near my balls, tell me to wank
while they begin to drink.
Why doesn’t the pain ever fucking go away.
Think I’m losing interest in cock and cunt.
Fuck I can feel it calling to me again,
the White Goddess, why am I craving junk?

the apprentice builder in the club,
in the men’s room, after I blew him,
he shook me off—“dude this’ll make you happy
all the fucken time”.

That’s not a normal state to be,
happy. Who is ever really happy,
who is ever actually happy at all?
How many nights can I go to sleep
after tying the noose
letting it go to sleep,
what’s the point of auto-erotic asphyxiation
the pleasure, the release is never gonna last,
rather just swallow a fucken bullet, end it all fast.

Roses are red
violets are blue,
I have chlamydia
and now so do you…
A single red rose,
Two bottles of champagne,
Ready meal for one,
Oh! Fucking joy, It’s
that fucking day again.

Flesh upon flesh
the scent of your flesh
lingers now in this empty bed.
Every room still bares
your memory.

Alone—the conversation
I’ve had a thousand times
too afraid to have with you
Too many questions
not enough answers

Too many broken windows
too many times my fist in the mirror
I can still see the night rolling out
in silhouette across your naked back
as we dwelled in the garden of un—earthly delights
too many times.

Wild accusations
old, old friends taking sides
or just cutting ties.
No grave to grieve
no acceptance
just have to forget.

 Final day came like the beginning
your replacement terrified,
hiding under the covers
you and your supposed best friend
banging on every window and every door,

“Come out, come out wherever you are…
You’re not in trouble. Come out. Come out wherever
you are, will give you $1000
if you show us who was in your bed”
She’s dialling the Cops.
I’m naked up against the door,
“Come on show us your new whore!”
How can two women act like that?
How can love turn to hate in less than 24 hours?
no-one believes me about the end.

Why I love being single
When I go out for drinks
or a party, every gender, every
man and woman I am free to mingle.
Don’t have to introduce no-one
No-one telling me I swear, or drink
or smoke too much.
When I’m out
and hungry just pop in anywhere
sit down order what I want, doesn’t take
45 minutes for me to basically choose the same
thing as always.
When getting ready I can drink Whisky in the bath
or the shower,
Don’t have to wait an hour
Or do a 1980’s movie changing montage
seriously how many fucking clothes do you
own, that you don’t even wear?
Can stay up all night watching shit movies
and enjoy the fact that they are shit
and neither of us try to justify
it with pseudo-intellectualism.
No more pretending to like Supernatural…
I get it okay….they are two hot brothers
that most of the audience secretly want to see
kiss. I get it. It’s X-files and horror-lite.
No more binge watching really bad TV and Movies
because you’re feeling down.
Grind-house and hard-porn
I really need to delete history
or use private browsing.
Only drawback to being single,
you feel like a dwarf in a giant’s bed…

Hallmark cards
the one day of the year
we’re supposed to be nice to each other
yet every day we stare across the table
hatred and disinterest burn through our eyes
both of us self-inflicting voodoo dolls,
Our house a war zone every fucking day and night
but not—not tonight 5 star restaurants
French Champagne, open carriage ride
around the city at night, two white horses
pull us with pride. Then to the Arts centre
for Swan Lake or La bohème.
We’ll go to the hotel suite by the Yarra
we’ll do our spousal duty, we’ll fuck,
you’ll fall asleep drunk or from two many pills,
I’ll change my clothes and start cruising
the back streets looking for some rough trade.
Happy fucking Valentine’s day…

Why are pagan cherubs
used to celebrate love?
Chubby, flying babies with bows and arrows
a paedophiliac wet dream.

Why is it only one day
Of the year we go crazy
for flowers and chocolates
cards and forget-me-knots,
back in the day
I’d send you flowers every random day
just to make you smile.
Not so you would get kinky and wild.
Can’t tell you how many times
I’ve written the word love
seriously and didn’t choke on the forced
system and the laborious rhyme.

A stripper and a casual sex partner of mine
once told me, I’d make the perfect boyfriend
cause I eat pussy and write poetry,
why do women only ever seem to think
In clichés?

Roses are red
the windows are red
the green house is red
the walls are red
my hands are covered in red
FUCK! I think I’ve been stabbed.

Roses are red
violets are blue
I think it’s time you knew
your sister gives much better head.

We wined
We dined
I lied,
we 69’d
a little bit of anal we tried
pain from the dildo was too much
and so I cried.

When your ex’s birthday is
on  V-day, Venereal disease day
it sucks the life out of every romantic
encounter, gesture and conquest
you have from there on in.
You couldn’t buy her violets
because people are only selling roses
you couldn’t make dinner reservations
everything is booked.
you get too scared of being seen in public
in your old home town,
what happens if people who know her
see me with me someone new?
How fast would it spread?
what would happen to privacy
and intimacy, you get a stain
on your best suit that can never be
washed away.

Roses are red
violets are blue,
after you fell asleep
across my legs
last night,
so then were my balls.