by erin hanson
Poetry
Great storytelling
Part One
and Part Two
Hot As Hell
there she stands
at the bar
over-exposed
painted face
no bra
blanked out
sensitive skin
one thought
‘is this all you are?’
stares at her hands
painted nails
tiny scar
above the wrist
heart screaming
NO!
locked in a box
she straightens her spine
fingers the key
holds up her head
shakes her hair free
chooses living
not dead
political husband
stands at her side
all he ever does is hide
hides who he is
hides what he does
smiles with false eyes
justifies violence
disguising soured love
taking the soap box
he holds forth again
demonstrating
obscuring the view
playing the hero
explaining his views
defending her rights
for all to hear
back home
he’s the terror of her nights
now he’s wolfing his whiskey back
necking his beer
later he’ll drag her round
by her hair
but she stands firm
this side of despair
with time on her side
she’s looking at him
a slight smile curving her upper lip
hypocrite
stupid shit
little boy
he thinks she’s his toy
to parade on his arm
to other men
again and again
and again and again
she mistook his weakness
for some sort of sweetness
but she sees through him now
right down to the core
she knows that he likes her
to dress like a whore
tonight he will try
to break her down
she’ll spit in his face
it’s war, all out war
love displaced
she walks out the door
leaves it swinging
a wave of farewell
cold as ice
hot as hell
on her way
to a far better life
he weeps with self-pity
his last strong-hold
she takes no prisoners
she belongs to the world of the brave and the bold
yes
his loss
Lucky Boy.
Mr. What-Was-His-Name
Had many Things
He lived in a house
Very fine, fit for Kings,
But the doors folded inward
And never lead out.
I ask you, my friends,
What was that all about?
The boy on his doorstep,
Had flowers in his hat.
He sat on the doorstep
And talked to the cat.
The cat said his fortune
Lay out in the fields.
The boy on the doorstep
Was happy with that.
The boy wandered off
In search of a wood.
He whistled and sang
As he went on his way.
His only thought was
‘What a fine day!’
When he was hungry
The berries were good.
He never did anything
Quite as he should.
When the night fell upon him
He looked at the stars
They hung high above him,
Over his bed,
Where he curled himself up,
Under a tree
And slept the sleep, of the just
And the dead.
Mr. What-Was-His-Name
Had many Things
He lived in a house
Very fine, fit for Kings.
But the boy, in the morning,
Woke up with the lark.
He shook off the dewdrops
And sprouted fine wings.
Lucky is he who whistles and sings.
The Caterpillar Speaks (updated version)
The Hatter is a lunatic
He never knows which card to pick.
The March Hare is always running late.
He hasn’t even got a date.
The clock’s not as it seems.
The Hatter has bad dreams,
He’s always in distress
And Alice has a problem too,
She’s not sure what to do
When she doesn’t fit her dress.
They’re lost inside a fairy tale
And none of it is true.
There’s a thought inside the Hatter’s head
That Alice is his match
But he hears laughter all the time.
The cards are hard to catch.
He can’t make reason out of rhyme,
And every time he thinks of love
He’s haunted by a bat.
Twinkle twinkle little dove,
His stars may help with that,
They’re shining bright enough above
And all will be complete
When he sees roses
Scattered at his feet.
Papier Mache
the shield is thin that stands between
the warmth of joy, and biting ice
grief is never far away
and overshadows life
the shield is thin that I create
and all my efforts vain
my work is no more use to me
than paper in the rain
The Caterpillar Speaks
The Hatter is a lunatic
He never knows which card to pick.
The March Hare is always running late.
He hasn’t even got a date.
The clock’s not as it seems.
The Hatter has bad dreams,
He’s always in distress
And Alice has a problem too,
She’s not sure what to do
When she doesn’t fit her dress.
They’re lost inside a fairy tale
And none of it is true.
There’s a thought inside the Hatter’s head
That Alice is his match
But he hears laughter all the time.
The cards are hard to catch.
He can’t make reason out of rhyme,
And every time he thinks of love
He’s haunted by a bat.
Twinkle twinkle little dove,
His stars may help with that,
They’re shining bright enough above
And all will be complete
When he sees roses
Scattered at his feet.
A film with a story
Gorgeous (song lyrics)
here’s a gift i didn’t need
a gift you blithly brought to me
it’s gorgeous
oh so gorgeous
you never wrap it up in flowers
now i sit in empty hours
so gorgeous
all so gorgeous
there’s a gift you bring to me
a gift of brutal honesty
it’s gorgeous
oh so gorgeous
some gifts can burn like hidden fire
now here I am, quite uninspired
you’re gorgeous
oh so gorgeous
i feel lost, misunderstood
such brutal truth has done no good
gorgeous
truly gorgeous
i’m a fool to care so much
for what you say, your distant touch
is gorgeous
oh so gorgeous
truth can kill the gift of love
as all the angels know above
some things are better left unsaid
or hidden underneath the bed
love’s a child of sun and light
a lantern shining in the night
why squash the flame and snuff the spark
now i’m dancing in the dark
it’s gorgeous
really gorgeous
i ponder every word you say
i’ll live to see another day
don’t lie, don’t sigh, don’t shy away
never look at me that way
you’re gorgeous
always gorgeous
An Audience of None
true
Who will judge us, and by what measure?
We closed our eyes upon the living world and awoke to find ourselves standing in the presence of a powerful being, being both jackal and man. We do not fear him, but rather the great set of scales besides which he stands.
In one hand he carries a single feather, plucked from the wings of the goddess of truth.
He places that feather upon the scales, and then reaches out toward us, into us, and though we are not harmed, we see that he carries our heart in his easy grip.
This two he places upon the scales.
A heart weighed down with a lifetime of regrets, and a feather infused with the weight of justice.
The scales tip, one way or the other, and we are judged.
The taste of the coin lingers as the small boat finally comes to ground.
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The Dreaming Path 