The Poetry Marathon

When considering colours, remember: regrettably,the most common is magnolia

When considering honesty, remember: most people, given the choice, would prefer a dose of amnesia

When considering imagination, remember: despite it’s superiority, it’s widely considered an affront to academia

When considering ambitions, remember: that although you protest, if you continue to write, you might, no you must include bibliomania

When considering people, remember: your theory about the destruction of DNA – your immortality depends on avoiding bacteria

When considering a destination, remember: take the scenic route always but ultimately, head to bohemia

(c) Gemma Hinton 14/6/15

Regimented robots

Being groomed for gunshots,

It wouldn’t be acceptable

To reject a less delectable

Dish if the orders were given,

And the food had been served –

Who on Earth

Did you think you were?

You’d have to learn your lesson.

And yet the revolting slop refused to obey,

It couldn’t be swallowed in any kind of way –

Stuck in the back of the throat like a lie,

Made the little robot think it was about to die

But it wouldn’t dare protest –

It would have to digest

In the preordained manner

Dictated by her captor –

The lunchtime supervisor

The gastric brutaliser.

The little robot knew exactly how many times to chew

So it didn’t get hit by the spoon

But this culinary horror

Was causing some bother

And though the robot didn’t dare comment,

It was about to vomit,

Its eyes were secreting distress

And its stomach was about to violently confess

No – it wouldn’t conform

It wouldn’t supress

Nothing would make it acquiesce

To this one request.

Then from nowhere

The jug tipped over

And the lunchtime supervisor

The gastric brutaliser

Was momentarily distracted with mopping

So the little robot’s gagging and sobbing

Could be brought to an end

By the swift swapping

Of its plate for a friend’s

Who would eat the same meal twice

And make a sacrifice

So the other  little robot didn’t have to pay the price

For not finishing a meal that wasn’t nice.

Good little robots,

Groomed for gunshots.

(c) Gemma Hinton 14/6/15

Two roads diverged

And one submerged

Below the route that all maps urged,

Where most would naturally go –

The overground pathway

Trampled underfoot toe by toe

By those who would not stray

And make their own way,

But down below

I chose to go

Where demon sprites

And hell-fire bright

Warned off the bravest souls.

I was sure I wouldn’t return

I was sure the way back would burn,

But what do you suppose I learned?

Oh, you’ll never know,

Along this path you’ll never go,

But believe me when I tell you this –

There are things you should not miss

Down there in that abyss.

(c) Gemma Hinton 2015

The only thing certain about life

Is that nothing remains the same,

Everything will change,

People will come and go,

Hearts and souls

Will be rearranged,

As time and tide wait for no man

And you pack all your worldly goods into a removal van.

The next chapter calls for a change of scene,

To shake things up a bit

And start afresh –

I know exactly what you mean,

It’s just that I haven’t quite finished this chapter yet,

But worry not, I’ll soon be gone

Because that’s what life’s about – moving on

To stagnate would be a mistake,

I need to accelerate

So you don’t overtake

And leave me behind

Life’s invitation to settle has been declined.

.

(c) Gemma Hinton 14/06/15

Another symbol of adult life

That escapes me,

Like being a wife

Or having a baby,

But let’s remember

That with these things comes great responsibility,

And that’s something that’s never appealed to me –

I like to come and go as I please,

Or crawl around on my hands and knees

In the third hour of searching for my keys,

Without acquiring a second-hand fur coat

That tickles my nose and sticks in my throat,

So it’s probably for the best

That I don’t have any pests…

Sorry – pets.

(c) Gemma Hinton 14/6/15

These are the eyes that never cried

When he died,

But cried for him since

To give the soul a good rinse.

Recently they demanded equal rights,

This pair of eyes,

After one began to whinge

About being hidden by a grown-out fringe.

The nose,

That was compared to a ski slope at school,

(Kids can be cruel…

And unimaginative)

Was pierced in its teens

And still is today… but now that feels like a cliché,

The fact that it kept bleeding

Never was resolved

And it remains really very needy

It hasn’t evolved.

The freckles across the nose and cheeks

Are a recurring theme that creeps

Through the years like a dream

Fading in and out

Without anyone ever really knowing what they’re about…

And then there’s the mouth

(If you carry on South)

Which in only its second year

Yelled out grace

Loud and clear, for all to hear

In a crowded café,

And is still prone to do whatever it likes

Even today

Regardless of social graces

Or whether the words are escaping at the appropriate times or places.

(c) Gemma Hinton 13/06/15

Wild, wild…

Used to be when it was you and me,

Where are you now?

Mental breakdown? In some forgotten town?

Seem to have an affinity with people with ‘psychological issues’

A term so often misused

For creatives,

Imaginarium Natives,

Why don’t I collect tissues any more?

Like I used to

When it was me and you?

Maybe because I don’t cry so much now,

Not like I used to anyhow,

More likely to be laughing you see,

Which reminds me…

That comment about laughing – just in passing?

Or does he have a double life to cope with his strife?

Door open,

Going to get broken or snapped

Or something might get trapped

Inside,

Back to the wild,

Wild open spaces, no more faces, looking back at me,

A cacophony of misunderstood signals,

I don’t get them, not in the way they’re used,

It just leaves me confused,

My mind abused,

Why don’t people just say what they mean?

And be what they seem?

I can’t be bothered to read between the lines,

It’s just another way of deciphering lies,

To which I’m allergic

In a kind of knee jerk

Fashion –

They kill all my passion

For life.

(c) Gemma Hinton

We need, we need, we need, we need, we need…

Bleeds

from your hearts

Like haemophiliacs

Who all lack

The art

Of consideration

Stuck in Oedipal hibernation…

So like a parent gone wild

In the supermarket aisle,

I’ll see your demands and raise you:

I’ll beat you at your own tantrum

Listen carefully, please do –

It may take a while to get accustomed:

I need!

I need!

I need!

I need!

I need!

(c) Gemma Hinton 13/06/15

A pyramid of light has fought it’s way through the muddy depths of the curtains

To claim a prime location amongst the shadowy cityscape on the wall

Like a Japanese advert in Tokyo

Projected onto towerblocks cast from wardrobes,

doors and candles

It will fall

As the sun sets,

And it will change angles

While it’s platinum light dulls

To a soft amber glow

As though the pixelated graphics had begun to slow

On this Japanese advert,

This laser show concert,

Projected on my wall

As the sun begins to fall.

(c) Gemma Hinton 13/06/15

Rough-cut and wretched,

But thoroughly vetted

And valuable, no doubt

Could handle themselves about

Town

And even without fineries and gowns

Would cut an impressive figure

With their signature

Style –

It’s all in the eye

Of the beholder

And as you grow older,

You see why:

Charisma will always shine

And beauty is

Absolutely

Defined

By that spark – even in the dark.

(c) Gemma Hinton 13/06/15