Thursday, 28 July 2016

short forms 28th July 2016

dreams of
architecture
her dad's house, unfinished
because he ran out of money.
Contracts


© Rachel Green 2016

spikes of montbretia
in the middle of the lawn
next door's dog, squatting


© Rachel Green 2016

restful night
neither palpitations
nor nightmare.
Then I get up
and it all starts.


© Rachel Green 2016

edits
for the novella
now complete

Happily the ending
is a peaceful one for Mel
her lesbian friend

becomes her sister


© Rachel Green 2016

Waiting for the post. Something accomplished.

© Rachel Green 2016

Wednesday, 27 July 2016

short forms 27th July 2016


a ghost
in her gran's room
seems to be terrified
as if all the demons of Hell
were there


© Rachel Green 2016

sunshine
through the open window
curious wasp


© Rachel Green 2016

Jack
watches me eat
Breakfast buddy.
The occasional paw
for the leftover milk


© Rachel Green 2016

trepidation
heart scan today
four o'clock

The other night
a series of palpitations
kept me awake.

Bad dreams


© Rachel Green 2016

Sleeptime horror movies. She's the star.

© Rachel Green 2016

Tuesday, 26 July 2016

poem 2016 / 071

Gallery Show

Clinking glasses, the muted
conversation of intelluctuals
(and those trying to pass as one)
cigarette smoke curling up to the oak beam ceiling.
This is the eighties and we're all artists,
thin Virgins and Old Holborn Borstals;
roaches made of rolled Rizla packets
to stop dusty tobacco caking your lungs.
The paintings are charming, primitive style
depictions of middle class families;
kids playing football while dads fight
with broken bottles over who's the better goalie.
The artist herself is petite, huge,
about to drop a baby but she doesn't know
who the dad is (she's narrowed it to three.)
I pay her attention but Steve is not amused.
At home he backhands me,
puts my cheek through my back teeth.
Blood on yellow walls.
“You fancied her, didn't you?”
Yes, of course, she was lovely but
I didn't make a pass at her. (She seemed
pretty straight anyway, to be honest)
I've said the wrong thing again.
He makes me gargle honesty with silence.



Image: Red Demon 2016 30" x 30" Oil on board. £120 inc P&P

short forms 26th July 2016

model
looks just the part
Stevie now brought to life
with a bit of photoshopping
Cover


© Rachel Green 2016

bin day
a brown slug investigates
kitchen waste


© Rachel Green 2016

early morning
the lack of traffic
school holiday
Today seems complicated
late night jiu-jitsu


© Rachel Green 2016

plagued by dreams,
nightmares and
heart palpitations

hard to wonder
what I'm worried about.
Money, probably.

I need to sell paintings.


© Rachel Green 2016

Night Hare. Her next planned painting

© Rachel Green 2016

Monday, 25 July 2016

poem 2016 / 070

Night Cream

Bathroom ablutions,
my face pink from hot water
as I dab the heat from my eyes.
The mirror has steamed up
despite the heat of the night;
his late arrival from band practice
timed for me to be long abed
but I waited up.
Hot tea and digestive biscuits,
late night American sit-coms.
He slips off his clothes,
drops them in the laundry
“Hurry up with the sink.”
I see the lipstick stain,
Ruby Red, smeared across
one collarbone
as she slid to one side.
I don't look down.
I don't want to see his flaccid cock
that hasn't touched me in more months
than I can count Sundays.
“All yours.”
I slip into bed, trying not to imagine
what she looks like.
A younger me?
I reach for a book
and hear the shower start up.



Image: Grinding the Rails 2016 by Rachel Green. oil on canvas board 89mm x 63mm  £35 free postage

short forms 25th July 2016

Bernie
can't remember
the sister she once had
twenty years of Da's denial.
wiped out.


© Rachel Green 2016

nasturtiam flower
a splash of red against the grass
head wound


© Rachel Green 2016

she wants
all the Star Trek movies
my kind of girl
I could spend quality time
with a Trekker lesbian


© Rachel Green 2016

Chesterfield Pride
in a fenced off area
of the local park

Sound system
leaves much to be desired
too loud / too quiet

Tranny with a voice to die for


© Rachel Green 2016

Nightmares. Repeated heart palpitations at 3AM.

© Rachel Green 2016

Sunday, 24 July 2016

poem 2016 / 069


Take On Me

My thoughts are hidden
among the swirls and leaves
of a mature cherry. Around me
a multitude in rainbow flags
and evening dresses, wigs askew
and sweating under a cloud
of prideful heat. A tannoy blares
and the crowd sings Abba but
I am separate but included,
the lure of a safe place with the earth
against my back. No hate here
but for the inevitable litter. Why?
I mull problems; a missing baby
cries for its mama too soon
and I smile at a woman,
rainbow make-up run under rain
or sweat, a palette of pigment
splayed across her cheeks.
I'm not hitting on her
but she assumes otherwise, turns away.



Image: Under the Wire 2016 oil on canvas board 89mm x 63mm  £35 inc. P&P