Let us drive, you and I,
to a hotel in the city.
Turn the radio on and let the landscape fly.
Let the apple boughs sway in the sun if they want to.
If the wind stirs the lilacs,
what’s that to you?
Why camp out by the lake,
when we can drink brandy in a bar,
stay awake all night,
sip whisky on the bed,
whistle to strangers on the street below.
Let’s go, you and I,
to a hotel in the city.
There’s nothing here but fields of grass and open sky.
Let the others sit in chairs and fall asleep if they want to.
Tell them that we intend
to take a different point of view.
Why wait another second,
when we can be together,
just us and the lonely road,
let us go right now
and see the world from a hotel window.
I slipped away one night to my bedroom up above
For I harbour a secret to escaping the mundane
My body was the vessel, my soul the passenger and my yearning was the fuel
I charged my body till I couldn’t stand any more
It spilled out off my hands and leaked from my toes
Scents of delicious fruits and Sensations of velvet ran down my limbs
I opened my eyes and I looked at my room, raised my hand
Where upon my finger touched the wall
Like a painters brush my finger marked the walls
With colours the rainforest of Brazil would look upon and envy
I span around the room smearing where my desire pulled me
But all too soon my power drained and I looked upon my work
It faded and I sighed, the blank canvas of life returned
But I would also return again,
Tomorrow.
Bruising thighs on table corners
racing to get to the bathroom
before the others in the morning
– a tangle scramble of limbs voices
arguing radios playing cosy house
full to bursting point look what
a mess a massive pile of dirty
dishes schoolbags coats shoes
all simple stuff jamming with
coughs clothes movements
—
– later, in a rare moment, she
revels in the sense of quiet,
luxuriating in the delicious fragile
solitude. She can hear a faint
rustle as she turns a page. She
sighs inside at Bradbury’s vision
of bleak Martian wastes, wonders
why he keeps using the word
‘lonely’ when it sounds so perfect,
is wistful for sad spreading planets.
Find our more about the contest results in "Escape" Micro Fiction vs Poetry Contest winners announced. |
|