Orla W.

NaPoWriMo #3

2012-04-04T00:27:37Z

Actually, a correction; this is a day late, the previous poem was two days late. By my time. But going by the website, I'm still reasonably on track with this one. I also remembered the theme! I'm on a winning streak.

Epithalamion.

Good luck, good luck, good luck, my girl
Or whoever’s girl you are.
Kiss the old and blue,
You lovely borrowed something new-
For you have come so very far
To be someone’s "she'll do".

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NaPoWriMo #2

2012-04-04T00:16:19Z

...a day late. Again, no theme.

A Moment.

I wonder am I wrong when I think the world is wrong
And I wonder if my ex-girlfriend was right.
Because I sometimes have to say please don’t talk to me that way
It doesn’t work, because people laugh when I'm polite.
But if you open up your mouth I’m going to try to punch you out
And I’m not very strong, so my GBH would all go wrong
And I'd hate that. Wouldn't you hate that, too?
So make me cry- but please, don’t make me shout.
Because when I shout, I shout, I scream, I am a madwoman, in public
I will throw things at you and miss and people will laugh about it later
I will spill tea and be honest and cry unpleasantly and look stupid.

And it would have been better if I hit you but I only shattered china
And that made it very, very funny
And I laughed along later
Because you’ve got to or you’re crazy
And I'd rather be a traitor.

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NaPoWriMo #1

2012-04-01T15:26:45Z

Well, I didn't stick to the prompt, because this had been lurking around my head for a while, but I quite like it.

A Girly Subject, Anyway.

Well, I will wear my waistcoat
And I will slick down my hair
And I will hide my barely B-cups
Even though they’re barely there.
And I will write and write and write
I will never cease to type
I will pick myself a man’s name
And work all through the night.
Because otherwise, I analyse
With my biros and my bottom lip well-bitten
All the blank and angry poetry I’m sure is terribly well-written.
I sit up late and ponder
The words of some bloke six foot under
Who writes about women sometimes. Big hand for him.
He’s usually in love. They’re usually thin.
Sometimes they’re dead. Female bodies are a favourite
Honoured and admired and honestly quite worshipped
And lovingly coffined up in similes, served with a side of metaphor
Always someone's subject, because we fought so many of our own great wars
And Sassoon ever noticed. And the boys studying English Lit
Couldn’t relate to our tiny daily deaths and our enormous lives
Too big to fit in just one line, too painful to rhyme
Because our lives don’t.
And the times will change and churn, turn and give rise-
- to another boy's poem, for a another clever girl to analyse.

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A poem.

2012-02-20T21:50:21Z

This is very likely far from my best; it becomes more of a rant than a poem. But maybe that's alright.

TW: abuse in a relationship.

( Birds. )

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How Arthur Conan Doyle robbed me of my inheritance.

2012-02-06T22:05:48Z

( Someday I'll sue. )

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