Philosopher Stoned

He is brazenly, brilliantly, brassed off by the polished politics of the righteous right. He heats arguments on pupils bright as buttons of molten jet in eyes alive with intellectual trickery. He rolls concepts and ideas over the strop of his tongue like globules of mercury, loosed from the tedium of measurement. His love of chase is betrayed by tiny garnet blushes on nose and cheeks; cooing infants to his icy fire of victory. He scrubs the thoughts of neophytes with the steel wool of Socratic questioning. Deftly iterating incantations of hegemonies, he hides exquisite diamond cuts in the woollen … Continue reading Philosopher Stoned

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Jigsaw

You are Glyndebourne I am Glastonbury You are tennis I am rugby You are Savile Row I am rock chick chic You are dignity, understated I am – not * I am tiptoes You are ground I am Virgin You are BA I am Karma Chameleon You are Moon River I am white water You are my mooring * I am your proxy; you my shield Neither one exposed nor concealed, we fit As perfect pieces Of our lovers’ jigsaw   © suzanne conboy-hill 2011 You may share but not sell, alter, substantially extract, or claim as your own Continue reading Jigsaw

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The Gunmetal Pound in Your Pocket

Grubby filigree dropping through time like a brass badge, We catch Momentarily, hold, pass on, exchange For time punctuated Ephemera. * History’s tale, brass braille In a rounded token. Currency to be stolen, traded, bitten in a Hand-spit handshake Gentleman’s deal. Makes it real. * The economics of Usury.   ©suzanne conboy-hill 2011 You may share but not sell, alter, substantially extract, or claim as your own. Continue reading The Gunmetal Pound in Your Pocket

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Heavy Metal

His smile was like pig-iron blasted from a stormy sky in winter. His tears were like silver mirrors, cracked and splattered on his taut plastic skin. Because she was as grudging as gold made lead by a malevolent alchemist.   ©suzanne conboy-hill 2011   You may share but not sell, alter, substantially extract, or claim as your own. Continue reading Heavy Metal

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The Box of Me

The instructions said to open up my soul To pull aside the clattering shades, the dusty drapes Of my personal museum To cast light on fractured mirrors of truth and wishes * No! They didn’t That’s not it at all It’s not … That’s not what it meant * But the instructions said … And I draw up my knees to protect my heart from The thundering minds of curious and dispassionate scrutineers Bent on clamorous critique * Wuss! Who’s looking? It means nothing at all Just do it Nobody here cares * But there is caring, in this new … Continue reading The Box of Me

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Blondie’s Nemesis

Hissing, spitting, wound up, bound up, looped and tied Into choices, their choices, I lied To get an operator, a person * Someone real to feel my exasperation but instead I get another endless list of choices Their choices * Press One for Returns, Press Two for Orders Press what for steaming, fire breathing, excoriating rage bordering on Murderous intent * All our Operators are busy but we really value your custom so Please hold For more Choices ©suzanne conboy-hill 2010 You may share but not sell, alter, substantially extract, or claim as your own. Continue reading Blondie’s Nemesis

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Trivial Frustration

Punch the keys Mis-hit – crap! Back three spaces Screen freezes * Ctrl Alt Delete, feet tapping Impatience, password matches We’re in! * Office, clipboard, Internet Explorer (Version 9) So very slowly creeping back * How many open windows? Don’t you know That will screw it? Urgent update to send In 140 characters ©suzanne conboy-hill 2010 You may share but not sell, alter, substantially extract, or claim as your own. Continue reading Trivial Frustration

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Tick Tock

Piers is standing alone in a hotel room with a clock in his head which is about to go off. He is waiting for Dylis because he needs a few moments of her sunshine, the way it used to be back in the day, before he gives her the envelope that he will make her promise not to open until she gets home. She will giggle and pretend to rip it apart to get at the contents and he will fix that image in his mind. The last time he saw her though, before the clock when ‘forever’ was another … Continue reading Tick Tock

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Three Kinds of Lost

Re-purposed At the bottom of the shopping bag? No. Under the sofa? Nada. Down behind the cushions, then? Oh God, what is that stuff? Sloshed to papier mâché at 40C in a jeans pocket? Better not be. Chased down the garden by a freak wind? In the car, down in the footwell? Your footwell, then? No? Well where? Keep looking. You keep looking. The bird is looking; its beady eyes lasering a line through the branches at the scuttling humans below. It fluffs, pokes around with its beak, and nests its egg on the soft shreds of their wasted effort. _____ Conflicted … Continue reading Three Kinds of Lost

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