plastic poems

spouses amok

She had me beeline
behind that door
to the basement
where I blubbered
in terror but safe
as they flung
plates bowls and cups
at each other
in the battleground
and the china
exploded on plaster

The next afternoon
peace blossomed afresh
and the new dinnerware
was some kind of plastic

A malleable thing
Twisting and shaping itself
To whatever you
Wished to believe

For your words are but
Kneaded with your
Stamped with your kisses

Floating to my ears
Up above my scalp
Until it wraps
Round my head
Covering my eyes

With its cloudy
And its poreless
Blinding and suffocating

Trapping me
Within its truth
And robbing me of
Air and

—  “Plastic Words” by Red Beanie

Permanently plastered

erase that expression
from your face. A plastic
smile, a remedy for
the agonizing questions. A smile
to hide the pain thrumming against
hollow bones. Sew the corners
apart, let’s see those pearly
whites. Gnawing and ripping 
into your head, tearing it apart
piece by piece.
Bright eyes, blinding flash.
Sharp stone peaks
scrape against the flesh
underfoot. Bleeding through the soil
of wild daffodils
resemble a withering smile.

say cheese!

Let me take you to my car
Show you how to see the stars
Let my lips be a map
And my hands be the guide
Let me blow smoke into your mouth
You only love me when your high
I don’t want your love
And I sure don’t want your lies
All I want to feel
Are your hands along my thighs
Take me deep into the sea
Drag me down ‘til I can’t breathe
You tore apart my plastic heart
Help me create a work of art
Put your body next to mine
We can move in perfect time
—  Me (poetry)
echo chamber

too stretches,
the prolonged breath,
time takes
between our meeting,
knitting dreams,
of you that are
just an echo
of an unrequited want,
The plasticity of soundlessness
till I hear your voice
bends and contorts,
the shine from the stars,
And all my nights
are a range of darkness,
with the faintest
glimmer of you.

© SoulReserve 2016

Why can’t words be little toy guns? 

Or plastic swords and knives?

There’d be no sting when
heir bodies of lead or steel 

would pierce the skin;

no immediate kickback 
when someone
pulled back 
at the trigger,

no extra twist or shove 
when someone
plunged it in 
at the handle.

Maybe, there wouldn’t be 

any blood of dignity 
and confidence
on the ground -

no damage done,

no broken pieces to glue back 
together again.

Just a ‘bang bang’ after
cruel roll of the tongue, 

and it’d be over;

just a swing and a swish,

so clean and precise.

Instead of a scream of pain,

laughter would be heard

because they’re both made
kids ages 6 to 8.

Why can’t words be like little toy guns? 

Or plastic swords and knives?
There’d be no sting when

their bodies of fake lead or steel 

would pierce 
the heart
and soul.

—  Anonymous, “Choking Hazard” // why can’t words be like plastic toys?
A list of things I have found being used as bookmarks in donated books

. random scraps of paper

. a programme from a theatre show in the 1980s.

. two postcards, one too private to talk about, the other stuck in the back of a ‘make your own blunt’ book, nearly illegible & severely water-damaged besides.

. a smaller book

. a handwritten poem, (originally by Percy Shelley)


. a newspaper cartoon, from France

. the communist manifesto (“summarised”)

. a photo of a woman, wearing a christmas jumper, in 80s styled hair and big glasses, holding a smiley toddler on her lap. 

. a fancy green leather bookmark, with Llewelyn the Great’s name, face and coat of arms on it.

. multiple tickets to football games

. an actual bookmark

. a photo of a newborn baby in the hospital, complete with lots of iv drips and a small knitted hat FOR THE LOVE OF GOD STOP USING YOUR PRECIOUS MEMORIES AS BOOKMARKS

. ribbons