Ian Stewart Black

Modern master of classical poetry

Month: October, 2009

Bulletproof

Oh, to be untouchable

To be as firm as rock can be

Without a chink in shining armour

Indifferent as the frozen sea

 

Oh, to harmonize myself

Like sewing up a wound

To restore my aching essense

I only wish I could

 

Oh, to have a future set

Where everything is fine

I could take life day by day

Of sorrow, there would be no sign

 

I wish I could handle torment

And accept the painful truth

I wish I’d dismiss desertion

And call myself ‘bulletproof’

Regret

At fourteen, she was a cherub

Beauty bowed to her

She met a boy who fell in love

Inseperable, they were

At fifteen, she broke his heart

When she gave up on their dream

That was it, ‘there’s no future’

His tears, forever streamed

At sixteen she left her home

For a new life in Japan

Seeking fame and fortune

She’d find another man

At seventeen she did well

She was a guitarist in a band

Playing to astonished crowds

Life was going as she planned

At eighteen, she had regrets

She’d never been the same

Since she walked away at just fifteen

And left him in the rain

At nineteen, she ran away

Back to her home town

She couldn’t find the boy she loved

She asked everyone around

She went to his childhood home

And found him to be gone

A shadowed being, still forlorn

Who’d spent his years withdrawn

At twenty, he left his home

And went down to the bridge

He flew and fell, died for a girl

Everyone knew which

At twenty, she had nothing left

She couldn’t face each day

She’d give anything for what she lost

To hear her soul-mate say:

‘I love you, Lucy, and always will

Until my soul is through

Because my soul is never-more

If my heart is not with you’

Bleed out

You asked me why I do it

So tell you now, I will

I’m not out for attention

But mentally, I’m ill

That’s why I took that sharpner

And twisted out the screw

That’s why my hip is bleeding

And is scarred with ‘I hate you’

Why those words? I ask, why not?

They’re as good as any other

You expected just a simple slit

Something easier to cover

My hatred then, of who and why

That’s what you ask me now

My answer is not beautiful

But willingly avowed

I carved them, not for Lucy

The girl who set me free

I cut them as a tribute

To my spiteful scorn of me

Because I loathe my every fibre

And everything I do

That’s why I formed the words I did

Simply, ‘I hate you’

Insomnia

My head is on the pillow

My mind is not at sea

My eyes are still not drooping

The sandman forsakes me

I close my eyes for hours

And sleep opts to evade

I clear my mind of everything

And replace my thoughts with shade

But the longer I lie, tranquil

The more unrest spreads through me

I know by now, I’ll never sleep

Though the hour is passing three

I’ve been here since eleven

Without a flicker in my eye

In all this time, I’m still alert

My repose  has gone awry

I know that in four hours

I’ll have to start my day

Up and out in the freezing cold

Weary, to my dismay

So later when I’m ready

And must engage my mind

Like every time, I’ll be inept

And lagging far behind

I just wish for a little sleep

To clear my blurry head

To banish this insomnia

And revive me in my bed

The sun obscured

Am I the sun, obscured in Winter-

Banished by some foreign clouds?

Am I some stranger, calling out-

My voice lost among the crowds?

Am I your sigh, bequeathed to a gale-

To float among the screaming gusts?

Am I your tear, cried in an ocean-

In sorrow, you deemed parting just?

Am I the life you left behind-

The empty house, still warm with love?

Am I the verse you used to value-

Until one day, you grew sick of?

 

I am the one you swore to hold-

Until you had breathed your last.

I am the lover you renounced-

That you bury in your past.

Bad review

Everything was going well

The readers seemed to like my work

I was made a favourite and inspired some

But approval is easy to shirk

I had acclaim from every source

Thespians read my love aloud

Through all of this, for once it seemed

I could hold my head up, proud

Writer’s came and sought approval

Thinking me a valued mind

People found insight in me

And saw their own scars on each line

But now all that is in the past

The days of praise are clearly gone

I’ve had my first bad review

And don’t think I’ll move on

Perhaps you could have criticized

Or made notes on my structure

Perhaps you could have aided me

At this crucial artistic juncture

I would have listened to what you said

I would have hastened to improve

If you’d been at all constructive

Instead, you disapproved

There was no comment on choice of words

No critiqe of my art

There wasn’t much said to consider

Or much knowledge to impart

Instead you simply stated

That you hate all I could write

You called my poems dreadful

like your opinion must be right

Perhaps the rest were lying

When they said they liked my art

When they told me they related

To my unrequited heart

Because they have opinions

That don’t agree with you

They are wrong, they have to be

Atleast, that is your view

You said my work is dreadful

And wanted it erased

Well thank you for the comment

I leave you now, disgraced

I hope you know I hate you

And your simple, childish pop

Your lack of comfort in your bile

And your suggestion to me; stop.

So I wrote you out this poem

And, like you, I’ll be blunt

You don’t deserve the time of day

Cos we all know you’re a cunt