The view from Alun 201

I suppose this one reflects my fascinations with what lay through windows in my first semester. Written while staring though the window of my poetry classroom, this chilling poem almost gives me those Victorian chills I so enjoy.

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The view from Alun 201

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Lamp. Black. Debutant Plaths, Larkin’s and Audens alike.

One stops to appreciate my eye. Tree. Leaves.

Like Children’s hands reaching towards me. Averted eye.

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Old mortar stares me down. Its ancient lines cry wisdom.

There’s nothing funnier than its misery.

To its left, a seemingly gross tumescence.

Engorged Mortar Member. Why no one cringes is beyond me.

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Victorian lamp. False garden. How the two are

Forced together fascinate me. No one else – just me.

The Children’s hands reach out. They are my hands.

No wonder, I’m home.

The student Romeo to His Unknown Other

New year, new poetry. I have conjured up a horde of new poems for you all to celebrate the new year, for the foreseeable future, all of the poems published will have been for my poetry portfolio in the first semester of University. Today's was inspired by the Sheppard to his mistress. Here is my version:

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The student Romeo to His Unknown Other

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Come with me and be my dove,

And live all pleasure of my love

Gaze upon mountains from indoors.

Those lonely looking high up moors.

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Here we will sit upon the finest chairs

Of plastic, wood, perhaps the bed,

Watching others wash their socks

Or laden with their books too much.

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In here I can make a seaside of paper

Their tides against the crumbs of sand-

Not only last night’s dinner. A scarf

Of autumn leaves, I will lay before you.

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A necklace of shoes littering my room

These are your pearls. The Masses of

Wires are your dresses, and your crown

Colours captured as though pillow bound.

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On our walks you will eat ice cream, even

In October, nothing is sweeter. I will pluck

For you, loose change from my pocket, pubs

And pool tables will be your pleasures.

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The diamond sparkle for your eye, shall be the

Garfield comics on my computer screen. And

Caviar is nothing compared to your crackers

Perhaps with cheese, made half hourly.

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Others will look in awe, at you my Queen-bright-

No doubt taller than me. When May will move

We shall sing each morning, devoting to delight.

Now my dove- live with me and be my love.