June.
You know they’ve got poetry on Spotify? That’s some cool shit. Ended up following John Cooper Clarke into a rabbit hole of other British poets. Decided to bite and try writing a bit of poetry for...
You know they’ve got poetry on Spotify? That’s some cool shit. Ended up following John Cooper Clarke into a rabbit hole of other British poets.
Decided to bite and try writing a bit of poetry for poetry’s sake.
Anyway. ‘Ere go. “June.”
I thought your voice was music
And your beauty - work of art.
I found your jokes amusing,
Ponygirl, a golden heart.
Your company, a journey
Which I never could depart
I really felt I loved you,
Well, I did once, at the start.
.
See, music can be different
Some songs good, and others crap.
Some begin melodically,
Then get crashing in a snap.
Starting subtle violins,
Then it blares with metal scrap
They lure you malevolent
Some music is a trap.
.
Some artists Donatello,
Others Jackson Pollock.
Some art goes well with wine,
Some turns you alcoholic.
Some is deep and intricate,
Some is purely bollocks
Can’t call this a masterpiece
I’m not sure what to call it.
.
Thought your lips were pure cuisine
And your beauty - work of art.
I never thought the kitchen
Would have mold and rot at heart.
The oven sent asunder
All the counters ripped apart
You’re a diner with one dish,
And it’s a dry and sour tart.