Sunday, March 8, 2009

[Poetry] Private Transport

This poem isn't really conventional. Each stanza is its own little poem. All are based on my own experiences on the public transport system of Australia. These were inspired by the "Moving Victoria Through Art" campaign, which is awesome. Usual price.

I open the doors to an empty carriage.
I run around reading the poetry.

All the conversations around me are alien.
Yet I speak the official tongue.
Pride of my country.

I watch the other passengers,
Each living their own lives, in their own worlds.
I know the pretty ones see me stare.

People filter from the carriage.
The din fades, in unison with the sky outside.
Inner peace.

The volatile man takes a step in my direction.
I grasp the steel object in my pocket.
He wouldn't dare.

My phone rings.
I bide my tongue in conversation.
Some words are not meant for trains.

He glances at me as he raises the nail to the glass.
I smirk.
I'm no foe of his.

I get on the bus and see the same old faces.
I've given them nicknames.
I ponder my own title.

I leap for the fleeing train.
I miss.
I turn and apologize to the stark white family behind me.

People don't look up.
They deliberately put a seat between themselves and others.
For public transport, its pretty damn private.

Monday, March 2, 2009

Coloured Red

Yet another poem. I kinda based it on a guy I used to know.

Coloured Red

Who needs it?
All they do is yell.
What else can they do?
They can’t touch me so they scream.
I wish they could drown out the tornado in my head.

In the end I give up.
Why bother with this place?
So I gave the kid what-for.
Yeah they booted me, but I would’ve left anyway.
Now my only problem is what to do with the afternoon.

I don’t want to go home.
She’s there.
All she does is cry.
She’s supposed to be the adult, the parent.
She’s the only one I’ve got left.
So where the hell is she when I need her?

I hang around with some of my less confined friends until three rolls around.
School lets out, so I go see my mates.
They walk right past me.
What the hell?
They say he was a mate.
They say I shouldn’t have broken his nose.
Shows what they know.

I know its wrong, but I don’t care anymore.
I’m letting that typhoon in my head out.
They better watch for me on the street.
If they eye me, I’ll gut them.

I’m out of it.
I’m driven by my emotions, but it seems they’ve gone off road.
After wandering I end up home.
As soon as I walk in she starts bawling.
I just grab some meat out of the fridge and wolf it.
She doesn’t shut up.
I go to my room and grab a refill of sticks.
On my way out I turn back and pocket my blade.
You never know who you’re going to meet.

I sit on the bench in the sunset and blaze it,
It’s getting dark when I see them.
My friends, at least I thought they were my friends.
They walk past, but I see one of them smirk.
I know it’s at me.
What does he know?
He’s doesn’t know how hard it is.
Having this torrent flowing through you all the time, having to hold it in.

I’m sick of this.
Sick of this world.
Sick of the tornado.
Sick of the anger.
I’m sick of being sick.
It ends tonight.
It’s me or them, and I’m the one with the shiner.

I get up with those traitors in sight, but my legs betray me.
It’s not logical.
I’m bolting, away from them.
As fast as my legs can carry me.
Not even focusing, I run into something in the dark.
A phone booth.
I just thought of a way to get my message across.
I dial the only free number I can think of.
“Get the cops. I’m killing people tonight.”

I walk over to some kids.
They run when I whip it out.
I can feel my emotion building.
I don’t feel myself.
I’m possessed.

Finally some real players come.
One comes pretty close to me.
She’s got nice ones.
It’s her or me.
Now I definitely feel disembodied.
I walk over to her on legs that aren’t my own.

The storm inside roars.
I move.
So does she.
The tsunami lessens, it flows out coolly.
I feel cold.
It’s nice to feel something.
The flood waters ooze out of me.
Who knew they were coloured red.