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I’m always writing myself

Creating something

Erasing the lines made in error

Concentrating on the definition

I like grey scale 

and colour combined

And perfume – perfume all over the page

One day

One day dude, I’ll be a fucking 

masterpiece 

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Guitar Tuition

To the Frolicking Folk!

Just wanted to give anyone who might be trying to teach themselves to play the guitar, the opportunity of some free guidance.

I’m involved in something called The National Guitar Academy. I’m not pitching anything here in the hope of making money – I won’t make a penny. It’s just something I’m passionate about and love that there is so much free (decent,helpful) content, encouraging people to play.

I won’t bang on about it too much…but there are links below, if you are wanting to take up learning or need a bit of help. 

I’m currently running the FB page, so I can be found over there – but there is no link between NGA and G&T, so I’d be grateful if both can be kept seperate.

Anyhoo…it’s founded by a wonderful teacher and I really rate his methods. That’s all I got.

Maybe I’ll see your face on the page, if not I’ll also be knocking about here. (Home is where the heart is, and all that)

Ta’ra

G&T 

https://www.facebook.com/nationalguitaracademy/
www.nationalguitaracademy.com

Indescribable

I wanted to write for you, a storm in a tea cup

Sum it up, wrap it up in a song
of three chords

but now it’s breezy and I’m thinking too deeply

I’m rarely concise

I hear you in symphony – a complex arrangement

Sending my own self deranged as I sit trying to unpick you

trying to frame you in my own style

I just can’t pin you, fathom it

How a stormy lass like me
finds calmness in the wordless sea of you

The Tonic

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I’m always missing somebody
and exercising control – muscle flexing with a burn

A steady smile, you like it?

Drunk on laughter, wine sodden
with odd socks sleeping on my skin, sweeping the floor like they’re made for it

I sit cross legged with a tambourine
but it is you that shakes like you’re convulsing

Two left feet, twirling you in circles and me in contentment

To this wonderfully strange, new beat

The Last Dance

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What is that, lingering on my tongue whilst you smoke rings of thunder through the air?

This garden is busy – birds bursting with song in twilight hours, as if to lift a heavy heart 

But there is no music in the sky tonight, just the stench of starvation

Hunger for before, between then and now – this very minute

And I, sat here with nothing but memories to feast on

Quietly look upon your face and see contentment

You have no appetite – no fire 

and your skin is blue with cold

Attention

I spend most times, locked up with myself
in a crowd of people

Hearing lines of pearled words and wishing they were precious

I like you.

You draw me out

And I listen

Contrition 

I forget the name, the place
but never the breeze – nor the blaze of your eyes as I muttered something
that amused you.
Our cheeks quickened in colour – the heat of burning wood
and us, together

That scene, it sings your name

pursed lips that said I was stupid but you liked it

No sence remains. It’s your birthday and I’m shut up behind you, like all the ones before

Flickers of past, like old photographs

but we don’t dance in arms coiled like the strangers in pictures
though we bathe in their stagnant silence – having no words but walls, walls so tall that I no longer know how to reach you

To teach myself how to climb

And there’s so much that remains
unsaid, undone.
Longing – lingering on the stonework
seeping quietly as buds of before blossom, murdering the very mortar of our seperation
providing hope for future flowers

It’s why I sit here, chisel in hand

It’s your birthday, again. I’m to blame and I miss you. Quietly.

Behind closed doors.