I'm back!!!

Been on and off the poetry scene but no one can keep me away for that long hoping to keep on writing away got high hopes more than ever in writing an short anthology unsure when the date of the final product will be finished but at the moment just trying to edit bits while I have the time!!! Job hunting has been very unsuccessful applied for admin and marketing jobs but no luck and things in the news are depressing me even more as I'm living off a tight budget very much artist style at the moment helping my boyfriend while I can whose definitely my Ying to my Yang! Love him loads and helping him to promote his rock band and get him the gig he so rightfully deserves. Things have been very unpredictable more up and down but I feel I'll get there in the end.

I finally managed to get a poetry night down at The Font Pub  in Leicester yesterday which I was really happy about met loads of cool people and read out two of my poems Nightmare In Nottingham which was more of a nostalgic look into the night where me and my mate was stranded in the streets, now how that happened was a real funny story and something we can never forget.  It was quite difficult to write and read to the audience but I felt I did it justice as it was a personal poem and can remember laughing at bits which included the *t-shirt smelling of cider, vomit and cigarette stains* but also brought back more the traumatic side of feeling the cold and not wanting to ever sleep or leave the place behind. The other poem I read out again a very personal poem was called Love With No Rules, which I have also read at The Western pub  and The Sound house venue a few weeks a go which was a cracking night too. The poem was intended to be sonnet on how I was feeling about my mate at the time but I just couldn't get the words down to key. I tried to focus on the feelings of taking things with caution and trying to back away from this idea of loving your best mate a concept not worth taking the risk. Some of the more emotional parts included ditching the sonnet style and writing what felt natural to me which included the growling and paper ripping something which I thought would show the frustration and add humour to the piece.

But on the whole the singers, beat boxers and poets were superb and I couldn't be any happier sitting in the quiet pub surrounded by candles, lovely people, chairs and my fave pint of Guinness beer so I'm going to come back to The Font next month for another poetry reading but my current poetry night coming will be in another fortnight which will be on the 10th September down at the Soundhouse, catch me there if you can. Check out my Facebook page.  https://www.facebook.com/pages/DemonCloverPress/150349578418935?fref=ts for updates, pictures and video's.

Romantic Short: Blood Wine and Cigars

I know that you are always with me. I follow that scent, the calm folded crisp smell of cigars lit on the rainy morning in the streets of Calais. I pass through the art galleries, boat docks, pubs, markets and old churchyard buildings. That scent again? It draws me in and embraces me close into secluded streets. I see friendly faces wearing the same weepy eyes and bright smiles every day. They were buskers, street tramps, just in my eyes fellow lost rebels who I admire. They haven’t yet given up even now their naked without luxury, starved of food and clothing they wander around building up a new home every day. 

Every time the buskers see me they each greet me in turn shake and kiss my hands. I drop a penny down; they play out their beautiful music and sing their songs into the early hours of the evening. The air of the night is surrounded with the distinctive smell of cider and cigars. Outside the docks of boats the pub is festered with local communities drinking and talking about previous nostalgia. People laugh and cheer at the buskers who come into the pubs and applaud even louder when each of them comes on stage. They play, they dance, they rant in their own unique way in time to the guitar and banjo. When the evening is finally over music and laughter without question just stops, I can hear those... heavy awkward whispers, muffled voices and coughs of things left unsaid. At that point each of the smiles of the lost rebels fades out into the night, they know they must face and enter that filthy alley alone forced into the solitude of old cardboard boxes. I thought they did a splendid show and award them money and praise in return some of them come up to compliment and kiss me again.

The next morning I visit the library to indulge in my long lost passion of French poetry but I keep on getting distracted. I pick up on that very dangerous scent of cigars, wine and … aftershave. It was just so intoxicating, the fuel I craved. The aroma got stronger outside, something was around me. I was feeling that someone had just touched my breast, pinched my nipples then started to bite, caress and kiss my back but that feeling had quickly faded out.I sat down, unable to detect anything. I open up an loaned book of poems by Christina Rossetti. Before I could read her first poem, a written letter had fell to the floor. It was encrypted in my name with a place and time. I begun to read it out aloud as if it was some fairy tale enchantment.

The cigar smoke started to rise, embrace and surround me it filled my eyes again. A young man appears at my feet. He is erect, long black hair; smile cheeky but eyes concrete and dreamy when magnified they melt into a fire. I gaze into his piercing green eyes; I can already feel my body heating up and chest feel tenser. We start to greet each with a handshake, he grabs my hand and begins to put each of my fingers into his mouth. Straight away I could feel this urge to share everything with him to plant that warm kiss onto his lips. We start with talking for hours about our previous past, poetry and art. I read out some of the poems in French and he was translating them for me. He asks whether I would want to go Paris with him; he knew the best historic sites to take pictures and then without any hesitation he flashes out two train tickets. A charmer no less, but I feel drawn to follow him hoping he would lead me to more adventure. We both catch a train together from Calais to Paris. He takes me into the French café near his apartment we end up drinking coffee together out in the balcony. He drove me around in his car; we end the day with having a great picnic of red wine, sandwiches, cakes and croissants out in the jardin. We end the first evening having a smoke or two out in the beautiful countryside air. He drops me back to my villa and kisses me slowly on the ears then begins to whisper softly the words k.i.m.m.y into my ear. I could feel the last of his words really start to linger, the final words before leaving me and promising to meet up the next evening outside his own apartment.

I came out the next evening wearing a tight red frock and bright red lipstick on the stoned cobbled streets. We both embrace each other with small kisses on the cheek, walking down with our tongues tied in knots and arms locked together to the local tavern drinking more wine. When it finally got late I was allured to follow him into his apartment a classy one bedroom with a double bed, rose flowers on each window ledge. There is another classy rose wine bottle on the table and a room of old books. We sit on the sofa watching movies, eating chocolate and sipping on wine. My head begins to spin, lose some focus. Could this really be love or was this just another drunken lusting daze? I droop to his shoulders; He recites bits of his own poem, I can’t help but stare into his deep eyes when he reads them, I look up again at his moist lips when he reads out aloud the final words. I yearn to snog him or for at least him to make that first move. I feel dizzy and high on red blooded wine and cigars. I could then feel him starting to kiss the temples of my neck and feel his soft teeth mingle and bite leaving small indented marks on my neck. I draw even closer towards his mouth; I can feel his beard tickle me. I love to taste him, love that aroma! He tastes of dimly lit cigars which mingle with my fruity perfume. At this point I feel that the ember inside surround and heat up my whole body. I want him to really light me up so I can explode into them blue flames. I begin to clench up my body as he bites my neck, we both kiss frantically. He whispers into my ears and begins to nibble on them. We end up huddled up together in bed! The window reflects that the sun is approaching, he sits on top of me staring at me blankly in silence. He takes time to admire my calm sleepy concrete clay features.


He knows that when the sun comes up that everlasting rainbow of color we created together will begin to melt and transform back into monochrome. It just comes to the end. we know we can not argue, we must leave each other. I know I must say the two forbidden words. The very two words that turn me back into this empty corpse. I hate them; I greet him with a long lost embrace, the in-completed hug and the final words to end everything! Bon- Voyage At the same time trying to hold myself together, I leave on that last train, feeling tired and drained but only for a second. The whispers of his voice fill up the station crying out… KIMMY, kimmy... kimmy! . They echo out and embrace me again, they always make me smile.

I catch the last train back to Calais then head off home to stormy England. I never feel sad to leave him or the place behind because I will always remember him. Just as any dying whisper, music of buskers, words of a poem. The bond you share is never really gone it ignites again to finally burn on eternally.

Just Desserts

Everyone in the local village pretty much from the first day at working in the bakery nicknamed me Sarah even though my real name was the much grander... Sophia. I had lived in a very rich family back in Italy. Dad was a prince but chose to retire because he was close to death. I was meant to be in the first in line to the throne but I was beaten by none other than my younger step sister Violet Ann. She always had what was mine! I could not stand her anymore and decided to go over to England and learn a trade to make a living for myself. The first day I moved over to England I chose to leave those pretty dresses be hide me!I wore t-shirts and old jeans to blend in. The English people are totally oblivious and that’s how I like it.

Every morning I opened the bakery the fresh smell was of bread and cream was heavenly! I worked hard from morning to night, selling cakes was a tough job it was sad to part away something you just made but I knew it would have a good home! I couldn’t believe my luck though when one of my wedding cakes was chosen in the Daily Mail’s Cake Competition. I was so excited! well I was...  that was when I saw the name of the buyer Violet Ann. I couldn’t believe that woman had found me all the way in England. She demanded the cake had to be made by next morning because she was to be married to Larry in the afternoon. I had no choice but to agree to her proposal especially since it was my only and best chance to get even!   

Next morning I just finished constructing and decorating my beautiful tower, the cake was spun in sugar, and cream with strawberries on top. It was my very own bit of heaven.  The strawberries were a fresh blood red. I kept dipping my finger to taste the cream, it was so addictive! At the same time I could feel a horrible feeling in my gut because I knew the cake wouldn’t really be mine. Violet and Larry were waiting outside the kitchen to purchase my cake; I could see Violet’s beautiful mango dress with feather bow tassels. She always look so elegant; a quaint doll shape of a woman but this was all just an act to seek attention. I knew her pretty life all too well.  I knew her secret; she couldn’t hide anything from me.  

Once we held an auction because dad and mum wanted to sell and auction their valuable items which was one of those family traditions! Me and Violet were meant to guard the items to make sure no one robbed us. However one of mum’s Egyptian rings was taken that day! My parents blamed me because to them... I was the irresponsible one! ... I was the oldest one! I found out Violet’s dirty secret though. She wore that necklace whilst she slept and she was indeed the thief that day.   Now she has come back to finish the final job and take away my valuable creation, well ... that is what she thinks anyway.  Her husband Larry was pretty much a simple old man, he was plain, grey haired and in a monochrome suit. I do not wish to hurt Larry because he is a very sweet and honest gentleman. I really feel that he is the idiot for falling for that bitch over there, when he would be a much happier man with me.

I knew Violet was pacing up and down outside the kitchen; she looked as though she was having a fit. This was excellent news! Then she stubbornly knocked on the kitchen door and said:

           “Where is my cake, hurry up... darling!”

      Her words hit hard. I could feel their bitter taste in my mouth.

         “It will be finished soon, be patient... honey!”

I could feel myself slowly losing control for the first time; I pounded the flour with my fist, battered the dough with the rolling pin in quick rhythmic pulses. Each aggressive swoop was calming. There was no way on earth she would get my cake too, even if that was to do the unimaginable... sabotage my own creation. I took away the fresh red strawberries and planted black ones around the cake. Found some curry sauce from the cupboard and spread it around the cake as icing and finally sprayed fermented milk as the cream. Violet took the cake and didn’t even bat a eyelid as I closed the door behind her. I couldn’t stop laughing because I knew her day will be ruined, it will be over for her in a matter of seconds... when that bit of cake touches everyone’s lips.

Part 3. Final Version Of Imprisonment

Part 3. Imprisonment Age 18 -20

The police scum always ruin everything! To them you’re an insignificant speck on their shoe; they really would want nothing to do with you and just want to air brush you away. I am fully aware and I’m not remorseful for my crime in anyway.  I know I should be punished. But the pig headed bastards at the very top deserved what they got; we do so much and yet we get... nothing in return!There is nothing worst when a police man smirks at you.  This one tied my hands and laughed at my face. This isn’t a fucking game! He tied the rope nozzle hard around my wrist. 

 “You are such a naughty little lady; you need to be taught some manners”

I was horrified and belittled to hear him speak in this way; I could feel him tying the rope even harder as his last words slowly slipped out! I could feel his two coarse hands nudge and pinch my arms and at my waist. It was that standard procedure you get in airports, to make sure you didn’t carry any weapons or drugs.

           

“You won’t escape!”

The police man held my hand tight, he would not let go.

         

  “Right miss, come with me!”

The policeman led me into a passageway full of cells; doors were painted white, the walls were white, everything was fucking white! I could feel myself not feel too well again, the sea sickness, the crash, walls moving inwards, and voices? I just wanted it all to end.  Everything from that dream is coming alive in this place and I could taste and hear the fear, it’s taking over. I have to escape but everything looked the same, doors were the cold empty white, I am the mouse in this nightmare of a labyrinth, he is the cat that crouches around every corner.  He led me into the cell but I pushed him down. He fell to the floor. I pinned him down with the full force of my arms. Quickly took out and grasped his gun firmly; I pointed it towards his head.

        

“If you shoot, you know you die”

I laughed at his feeble words at long last I was in control; I didn’t care about the law for those last few minutes when you know you are going to die anyway are the best you ever get because you stop caring about everything else. I tightened my grip on the gun; I could see flash of white specks in his eyes.

   “Well, I am already dead; law is the executioner”

I lit up another cigarette, dropped the remains of fiery dust on to his shoe. The prison’s wall was turning white to grey; again sirens and the alarm bells had alerted me. Policemen from other cells scurried towards my cell, their guns  fully loaded.

“Well gentleman, it was so good to see you all again.

  Too bad the confrontation will be short this time,

   but it is time so goodbye... bastards!”

In those last words I threw the cigarette to the floor, the room was no longer empty white but surrounded by a furry of red and purple.

Part 2. It Was Just Almost Too Easy Age 15- 18

Bored, Alone, Hungry, Bored, Alone, Hungry. It was that same record again! I was all out of ideas and couldn’t even stand the thought of living anymore.

The room damn it was always the same.  It was just… so incomplete, so quiet, and so empty. I just didn’t know what to do; it was the summer, this was a white washed scrapbook of uncompleted projects. I was not a child anymore. I just turned 18 a week ago and I decided to scavenge around for some money. I no longer want toys but cigarettes and alcohol; I need to drown those sorrows before they rise up against me.

I brought the items and slowly crept up into my room, the room lock clicked! I drank those two full bottles of wine; the glass made that delightful clanking noise. I played another CD in my CD player the track Almost Too Easy and it was on the loop. I took out the cigarette from the packet, I could hear the small snap of wood from the lighter fuel as it slowly lit up the cigarette. I breathed in the black smoke; some of it was rising up above my head. I had never really smoked before so I could feel the... drowning feeling again; but at the same time I didn’t really care! I could feel myself slowly not caring about anyone else too anymore. Why should I?  I was convinced I would die, die alone in this room.

I was half conscious, half dead but the outside world aroused my senses. It would be too easy just to die wouldn’t it though?.  It would be too easy to be forgotten in Time.To be booed on that stage. Words don’t feel good anymore, they are bitter.  I wanted to mould them, use them on everyone. No one would be safe. My audience will be captivated and blown away tonight!

II

I could hear the annoying crazy frog ringtone; someone had just text me. I found my mobile phone. 

“Clover, meet us at the toy shop near Market Street!”

I could feel that... excitement but confusion too. I sped through the streets on my motorcycle, my friends were already inside, they were laughing and taunting the owner. We were back to being those bad children again.

      “What are you ruffians doing in my shop, get out! Shoo!”

My friend took out his gun; this was definitely not one of the toys and he was pointing it at the shop owners head.

“I wouldn’t say that if I were you dear sir, now give me that dolly, my sister wants it!”

I was watching them outside the shop with a grin on my face. I enjoyed watching their games through that glass screen. What a show? I also saw a beautiful pink and blue doll through the mirrored glass. I wanted her! But I could also see my own distorted face in the mirror and I hated it even more. I wanted to smash it to pieces! I took out a metal baton and thumped it at the window...I could hear the delightful clash of broken up glass. All eyes were on me, I could hear the laughter, tears and applause!

I really wanted though to hear silence again. I wanted the voices to just go away.  Me and my friends had set up the fire and lights around the shop this shall be the huge explosion that will mark the end. We were about to cut the fuse, when we could hear sirens from the local police car pull up... louder and closer towards the shop.  The noises were on repeat, they were ... a distress signal. The policeman entered the shop. I could feel myself feeling… numb and empty again. This will be finished. I grabbed my mate’s gun; this was followed by a final gunshot and then an ominous mute of silence. The shop owner was dead, I could see nothing but blood, I could only feel... a pair of hands nudge and chain up my arms up to the wall. I shall never be free; but there was just no way to stop the show. 

Almost Too Easy Part 1. I Need Fuel Age 6-13

I cannot stand it; everything is too boring, too quiet! I need noise, distractions, anything! I hate to admit it but I just dislike ...being in that room on my own. I really miss my baby brother too. I remember his snores and even his moans but they took that away!  I even miss my annoying toy ringtone because at least when I hear those noises I felt ... something.I was never satisfied with the quiet life. It all started at the ripe age of 6. I would quickly grow bored of following that same old routine. To me... it was that same old jilted record! I wanted adventure; I wanted to do something... new. Mum and I had made a decision, we will change my room. I helped her paint those plain white walls.  When I used that brush... the green paint would always drip in clumps on the floor. Mum was a natural she was so good at painting, her green swirls were perfect, wish I could be as perfect as her! We had both finished painting the master piece on my wall it was marked with four green spirals. I could feel the power of the spirals; they would sooth me into a pleasurable sleep. Every bed time I pictured those spirals as the waves of a great sea and my bed was rowing through them but every morning I was disappointed to find that this wasn’t real. Mum would always encourage my fantasy though and leave the window open at night to let the wind howl through my room’s brittle walls.

The smell of the paint though had made me vomit. I always wanted the change but could feel myself falling... under a great, green sea. The walls closed in... I could hear unknown voices beyond those horizons. I was half asleep and got into my bed, the nuts and bolts below had broke though  and everything changed! I could feel the bed rocking back and forth... the bed then fell and I followed... it landed with a huge crash on to the floor. I unaware what had happened but mum knew exactly. She came up to fix the bed and wash and kiss my bruises but that... fear... drowning in that... great sea was worst! The peace in those calm waves  disturbed.

II Age 8-15

The next day I thought happiness had hit again... when my parents brought my first CD player. I could feel the excitement, the shiny exterior, the plastic feel on the hands. I placed the CD in the player, random music and voices in the background were playing. I could feel some confusion too because I could only hear voices and sounds, where are the people? Every day I would buy a new CD and replace it with a another one, however on my 15^th birthday I was tiresome of this hobby. I knew all the words to every song; I could feel again that I was ... turning into the jilted record.

 One day I decided to play the tracks really loud, I tweaked around with the dials. Metallica’s Fuel disturbed the calm, crisp emptiness of the paper thin walls in my bedroom. The words were pumping me up.

‘Give me fuel, give me fire,’

The words were so addictive, the words were pleasure. I was feeling happy and very high,

but then all music... stopped. I couldn’t move, I was out of breath. I was craving something right now but what could it be? Everything was just too quiet! Something had to be done and done tonight.

I just could not stand the quiet anymore. I would do just about anything for that loud and iconic life that rock stars plays every day. The explosions, the fire, the makeup, the costumes and the sound.  Nothing could be more perfect; I tried really hard to follow those heavy metal footsteps but would always... lag miles behind.

 I got myself a guitar smashed that poor thing to pieces. Hendrix would be proud but my parents all they could do was frown. They didn’t approve of destruction or violence but that just made me want do it even more. They punished me for destroying my guitar they took away my video games, took away my horror films but I would always have my way and get them back when they out of the house. Watching them gave me a buzz that night when I knew that they were forbidden! Everything seemed new and exciting again.

The following week I would next purchase and thwack drums with my metal fists but playing them every day would always leave my hands tired. Mum and I would have heated rows and the neighbors and I would not see eye to eye because they just hated me that way. However I got bored again, even Rock and Roll didn’t satisfy my cravings and I would spend my teen years pondering on what to do next? I was the typical drop out in school. I just hated authority so much... I would be a truant! Kiss the teacher... I got that man fired, but sadly I was... expelled too so the career path is out of the picture. I have to do something though and soon. I need to do something new... something never really been done before.  

Marked With Death

Leaves are my green corset,

they flutter to the dance

of the wind.

I grasp the twigs

in my bare hands,

the book in my lap

feels so empty,

there are no words.

I intend to decorate the book

with nature.

I press the flower into the pages,

I blink at them with eyes fully

open

I can see words.

The flower wilts to the side,

colors fade,
they smear into
corners of the page.