1229-3007

Seems these days that I write more than one poem a day and I dont title anything anymore so everything is just gunna turn into dates - whatever. I divide each poem by a little line and a copyright thing. Thanks for reading.

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122907am(3)
I want to pull
HAND CANONS
Out of my sweatshirt
And paint the word “LOVE”
With bullets and bullet holes
Wait… ive got it all wrong you say?
O dear,
I better take these clips
Out of my hand canons
I better erase what I know
About the word “LOVE”

::START OVER::
I want to give
HAND CANONS
To preschoolers
Chewing gum mid-play
And then have them
All
DROP IT
So that peace
Could be possible
someday
and love
could find a way.

Liam Elliott 2007. All Rights Reserved.

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123007(am)
Dim the conversations
Echoing inside your head
Make them like these rooms
Only half lit by naked bulbs
Make them something
Seen and not heard
Take those words
Dropping off mind lips
And hang them up
Effervescent and lovely
Recycled from the day’s
Worth of words we hear.
The song plays background
Filler:
Do you still remember
When we were little
We would play in the park
And you asked what happens
When we die
I SAID we forget everything.
It reminds me of
A childhood in London
The circling streets
The swarms of crowds
The day trips to the park
Where I would run
And run and climb trees
Where even the dingy city
Seemed to be ablaze
With summer light
And the car rides home
Streets moving like a slideshow of
Black and white photography
Depicting city
Painting loneliness
Screaming desperation
Crying inherited sorrow.

This is where we go

**Song lyrics from Ólafur Arnald’s “Himinnin er ad hrynja”

Liam Elliott 2007. All Rights Reserved.

********

111107pm
The last thing I kissed:
A cigarette that burnt
My puckering lips
As streetlights painted
Yellow patterns across my chest
The same way muzzle flairs
Light up a room
During an execution.

The last thing I embraced:
An effigy made of movie clippings
They called it love
Showed it all over town:
Pictures of how it could be
Glowing on walls
The same way apparitions
Light up a room
During a poltergeist.

© Liam Elliott 2007. All Rights Reserved.

Abrupt

103007
Oh, Ive loved before
Had bouquets of roses
Explode out of my chest
But all of my bouquets
Turn into severed wires
Rusting in my hollow form.

Oh, I opened shop
So long ago, the stock
Is getting outdated:
Passing the “sell by” dates
As I wait to flip the sign
“Open” to “Closed”.

And by the way
This ends not so
Abruptly.

©Liam Elliott 2007. All Rights Reserved.

102007

It brings in the colours.

Is this how everythings supposed to look:
Bright?
More luminous than the ash sun?

Is this how you see the world:
Do colours leap of surfaces
Into your soft eyes
Spilling onto your retina
Flowing down your optic nerve
Soaking into your brain
Where it’s translated into
True love?

Because I see the world
In 18% grey
All rainy days
And when that rain
Hits my synapses
It’s translated into
Lost love.

© Liam Elliott 2007. All Rights Reserved.

Also, I really want to go to an existing/ start a poetry reading.
Contact me if you're interested.

Another peom from the wilderness series

101107
Ive got this late night
Search warrant
Fueled by tea
Dizzying thoughts
A child stares at me
From the steam
PG Tips - slow slips
The child: blue eyed,
Blonde haired,
Sad, confused, lost
I know him well
His hidden tears
The way he will declare
War on friends, family,
Then when no one is left:
Himself.
I know how he shakes
With booming emotions
Trapped and bottle necking
Into a sweet therapeutic addiction
I know how he will search
Through canvases
Crowds, love, drugs,
Religion, fights, women,
Fashion, ego, hate—
Trying to find himself
Where he left off
So many years ago
I know how he can’t
Conjure up the words
Allowing him freedom
I know how he analyzes
His every footstep
His every utterance
His every thought
I know how he cries
I know how he will
Forget how to cry,
How to feel, how to love,
How to express anything
Besides bipolar pendulum
Swayings between negative
And overwhelming positive
I know how he won’t
Be able to accept
Who he is until
He is stuck play acting.


Most of all,
I know how he will be up late
With a warm cup of tea
Staring through the steam
At things that aren’t really there.
Oh, I know these things all to well
If only I could spare him
If only.

© Liam Elliott 2007. All Rights Reserved.

Tangibility

Tangibility
Uncertainty.
Eyes fidgeting
Beneath my coma,
Glossy print gaze
Soaking in soft focus
The thousand words
I could never fuckin say
Never spit out
From my toxic waste,
Sewer pipe mouth.
That while death
Fails to intimidate
This heart thrashing
Inside my echo chamber,
Cavern chest
That there is worse
Than elongated death
Oh yes. A far greater
Torment dances
Inside my bruised exhausted,
China doll bones: to be—
Inverted via doubt
Then retrofitted without
That which was dubious;
The great ambiguous:
Love.
The illusory reality of which
Is papier-mâché bricks
Adhering to my chest.
It seems so real at times
That I loose my breath;
Only to inhale deeply
The soot of a tangible universe.

© Liam Elliott 2007. All Rights Reserved.

New Poem

See You (Scrambled Eggs)

I dropped her
Like a cigarette
Into an ash tray
Spent, but still
Alive. Somewhat.

I grabbed at air
Like bottles
Filled with freedom.

Now,
I’m riding
A snail to victory:
To a finish line.
See you.
See you there.

There.
I load
Pills in my mouth
Like bullets in a clip
Bam!
Scrambled eggs
All over the place.

© Liam Elliott 2007. All Rights Reserved.


Sauce

Its funny how I tell my friends
I don’t miss you
Yet
I do and I don’t.
I miss not having
Nightmares:
Scrambled eggs
Running from
That hole in my mind.
But you? No.
More, myself
Before me
And the blender
Crossed paths
And I got sauced
Constantly.

© Liam Elliott 2007. All Rights Reserved.