Monday, 2 April 2018

The Relic, a sonnet by Adam Common, poet

The usurper writhes in her ermine form
 Across the marble tiled floor. The relic
Rests in its place, happy, relaxed, and warm,
 Contented to be so infidelic:
Because its shape is wrong, wrangled from stone,
 Carved with an infinite affectation,
Then flattered and raised upon crimson throne
 So far above its orderly station.
The thief's hands grasp around its graven root,
 Disgraceful in her low and common touch
To treat its stature as prosaic loot
 Shameful for one who bears its beauty such.
  Alas, stolen, scalped and hawked the relic was,
  Despite its many glaring, awful flaws.



Sunday, 1 April 2018

The Broken Back, a poem by Adam Common, poet

And there she was,
Resting on the precipice,
My broken backed beauty,
The stuffing slashed from her seats.

My poor lady,
Her burned out husk invaded;
Stolen away, raped and burned,
And left face down in a river.

She'd drowned.

I'd wept for her.
Knees were grass stained for the trek,
The same amble of the lost
That men often walk alone.

Then I returned.
To find her gone, reclaimed
By the city, the river,
That all at once broke her down.

I cried.

To feel her curves,
That rough leather, cold metal,
Steady, assuring voice
I would never hear again.

And so I raged.
Death to my pale enemy,
That thief in the bastard night.
I'd love to take your love from you!

That's all.

What more to do?
She lays as scrap, broken backed,
In some depository,
Buried with her dead brothers,

And I live on,
Rusting and cracking for her,
Rolling downhill on flat tyres,
That never quite leave the road.

Friday, 30 March 2018

Kid(s), a poem by Adam Common, poet

Kids


1. You’d lift your skirt to your knees
To make the climbing easier.
Your hands were rough,
And your face all smudged up;


Grass in your stupid hair,
And in my stupid hair.


We were wilder kids, dumb ‘n dopey,
Smarter than the smart, because
Just because. And we could run,
And fight, fly, and fail, and fall.


And man, didn’t you show me
How to fall the hardest.


2. The crash and wallop turned ache,
The longer kind of unhappy days.
Your skin was cool
And your face all washed out.


Tired, you slept days away,
I waited days away


And we were quieter kids, sad and sorry,
Drifting ignorant, because
Just because. What did we know?
What hope could hope provide?


And man didn’t you show me
How hopeless I could be?


3. Your room seemed to hollow then;
Walls further apart that before,
The corners darker,
And much more of a home.


We watched films, while
I watched you thin


And we were emptier kids, pale and shallow,
Waiting time away, because
Just because. What else was there?
What useful time remained?


And man, didn’t you show me
How precious time could be?


4. So I learn a loneliness
That would follow me forever.
My hands turned rough,
My face all wrinkled up;


Grey in my stupid hair,
And in my stupid heart.


Made a wild kid, dumb and dopey,
More ignorant than smart, because
Just because. And I would run,
And fight. I would fly, fail, and fall
With no safety net to catch me,
But I wouldn’t be bruised at all,
Because you were gone,
And so went weakness.


And man, didn’t it make me
Weaker than before?


5. The “you” would appear in dreams at first,
Distant, watching from where I couldn’t reach,
Eyes wide. Furious. Accusing.
But It had been given life by what?


Madness. That empty space filled
With you. Your face. Your voice and smell.
Your hate, your taunting laugh
Making a mockery of your memory.


I’d wake and collapse in on myself,
A broken bubble, guts a dying star,
And I’d begin to fear
What else sleep might take from us.


But It showed me it was stupid,
Like I am stupid, and had returned
To the living, waking world just for my eyes
And for my benefit alone.


Seventeen years of this. The “you” exists.
It ages. It changes and I forget
What you looked like when we were wilder kids,
And how you were when you were really alive.


And I was just a kid, rapt and grateful,
Horrified and broken by the chance
To make clear that I cared for you
In that awful, mediocre way
That a kid like me is capable of.
My best friend. My only friend.
And It listened, and It smiled,
And the smile is only cruel.


And man, don’t I wish
You would die.

Friday, 9 March 2018

Roadside, a poem by Adam Common, poet

Stop here. Eat well. Welcome.
This is a transient place
And I am in it.

There are regulars, though not many.
I’ve seen them before.
Dust up to their knees,
They have the breakfast.

From the window, I see no sky.
I see no distant horizon.
Only the mountain, and the lights,
And a cloud that consumes the earth
In the same tired way it always has.

I order four on reflex. Too much,
But I’ll eat it regardless.
I feel that soft warmth in my hands,
And it’s like a memory, only tastier.

I pay gladly, tip well
And drive toward where the sun should be.
I’ll come again soon.


Wednesday, 7 March 2018

5. Kid(s) Coda

5. The “you” would appear in dreams at first,
Distant, watching from where I couldn’t reach,
Eyes wide. Furious. Accusing.
But It had been given life by what?

Madness. That empty space filled
With you. Your face. Your voice and smell.
Your hate, your taunting laugh
Making a mockery of your memory.

I’d wake and collapse in on myself,
A broken bubble, guts a dying star,
And I’d begin to fear
What else sleep might take from us.

But It showed me it was stupid,
Like I am stupid, and had returned
To the living, waking world just for my eyes
And for my benefit alone.

Seventeen years of this. The “you” exists.
It ages. It changes and I forget
What you looked like when we were wilder kids,
And how you were when you were really alive.

And I was just a kid, rapt and grateful,
Horrified and broken by the chance
To make clear that I cared for you
In that awful, mediocre way
That a kid like me is capable of.
My best friend. My only friend.
And It listened, and It smiled,
And the smile is only cruel.

And man, don’t I wish “you’d” die.