Varnish

(4th ED., 2011)

Poems

By

Elaine cosgrove

With

Photographs

By

Colin h. smith

PLUTO,

ASSORTED TREATS,

IMPERIAL HEART,

USED TO BE COOL,

THE PIN THAT SHOOK THE RULES LOOSE,

AND

SHOWER SCENE.

PLUTO

Sleep shut, I am trying to get back to Pluto.

It is a world climbed to through a tree house that is

sat in one grand tree planted, found at a junction

of dirty, grey, littered primary roads.

I’ve forgotten the sentence that gets me back;

I don’t know what to do or who to ask for help.

I’m left to try to remember in an ugly flat down the road.

You stay inside because the people who walk outside are violent,

you are frightened by their bad intent.

So you sit in an armchair and wait,

turning your teeth for the memory to resurface.

It’s so beautiful there, in Pluto,

it’s a garden of golden, soughing lines;

glorious charm that makes you smile

all the time.

You wait for the code - that jigsaw trick -

you wait for the magic of remembering it.

ASSORTED TREATS

One day in July,

my hand whirled like helicopter leaves

to grill a crayon painted house.

In the corner of the page,

a giant sun with a wide, toothy grin

smelled like a banana sweet.

At twelve, I connected the rope to the tyre;

swung, coin spun, felt queasy

and decided to go into the second field.

Daisy flowers squashed into my knees,

Kitten and I played hide & seek

ambushing shrews in the tall, green grass.

I cycled my Raleigh to the fun fair,

my carousel shoes went plink-plonk

working together at the bumping cars.

Bodies around were possessed

by funtime gargoyles throwing candy floss laughs

over backs, flung over steering wheels.

When I got home,

my sister and I built up a playhouse of

white plastic scaffold with pink papered walls.

Barbie will not forgive Ken

for scoffing all the Scot’s Clan

and drives her car to the shop.

IMPERIAL HEART

‘Tepid souls shall become fervent

Fervent souls shall rise speedily to great perfection’

- The 7th & 8th promises of the sacred heart

I am entreating for mercy, imperial sadness,

to take the bed away as a dead weight magnet.

This is not always circumstantial;

it just comes and goes ad hoc and violent.

Let the promises work helix with my chemical

and I’ll allow those rules to play hypocrite,

even though I don’t believe to pray.

Dear, with your quiet, caring humour

stitch elastic your love to mine

and we can be heartfold.

I can learn the devotion towards perfection

through real visions of us dancing

together on Thursday nights,

drinking pints, reading books,

watching films with cups of tea.

I witness refuge when the speakers

radiate licks of soothing sound.

You can make my body spark tenderness

with a kiss on the hand,

on the curve of the cheek,

reminding me of that devotion

to the quotidian grace

of a settled head.

You refuse the bad days

when I compute your language

feeling glassbuilt, tenebrous, guillotine.

USED TO BE COOL

I remember when you used to be cool

you wore vintage that was really second hand,

best foot out in charity shop glamour

but this fad became last season,

too copied, too common, too old.

I remember when you used to be cool

you could skull six pints, four shots

shove prescribed pills

down your throat and

speed up your nose,

party with the band

and stay up until 7

stay up until 7

and get up for your dole at 5

You used to be so cool.

Wayfarers were in

Music heads were in

overdraft was in

Now, you are the dreaded word: sensible,

with good sleep

a neutral gut,

and a plus bank balance.

THE PIN THAT SHOOK THE RULES LOOSE

In our minds, that bedsitter breathed expanse.

Distance shortened and I loved the freedom of my feet

to take me anywhere.

I got closer to the City; I trained my ear to grow easy

to the sounds of the night,

waking side-by-side with the people outside, the traffic,

the whine of the bin lorry clanging on Monday Mornings.

On Munster Avenue

the clean face of a different life lay before us,

so we pinned old pictures onto the corked wall:

club flyers from London, (blow-up and Frog)

postcards from Prague,

photos from our schooldays.

Wreaths of smoke clamoured in the kitchen-living room;

we christened it the perfect little hotbox, a smoker’s delight.

Cardinal measures were executed, weighed,

built into lesson-makers,

nights were spent lushing out of bottles of Martini,

gathering resolve with the fridge at our feet.

I used this place as a seat to model myself as an individual;

a new existence free from the comparisons of 18 years siamesed.

For me, the sweet illusion of future success was weaved.

It came out lurching with an evil laugh from English books,

theories of Sociology and Political Science back in my

‘You got to spend money to make money’ college days

(The reward of which I am still waiting)

In that first flat,

In that ebullient flat,

five years ago.

SHOWER SCENE

Attempting a faint version

of celluloid romance is not as easy as it seems

but we will try anyways; I think about the

hand on hand foaming up the soap deluxe

for a joint bubble bath standing up;

how the shower was too tight, the tiles were too slippy,

they squeaked at the most inappropriate times.

The fragrance stung in our eyes; the pressure was too high;

our heads were under a pins & needles

power shower block-siege.

And you complained, let me under the warmth, I’m getting cold,

I feel like I’m drowning, at the crucial points

when Oscar winning moments could be melted down

for a lasting substance. I delivered to you again and again

the shower scene speech: It’s not like this in the movies, is it?

Varnish, 4th edition (2011) ////////////////

‘Imperial Heart’ and ‘Shower Scene’ have been changed a bit since 1st edition.

All poems by Elaine Cosgrove, 2010/2011.

All photographs by Colin H. Smith, 2010, except for the dead ice cream cone.

Elaine can be contacted at elainecosgrove1[at]gmail[dot]com

Colin can be contacted at smithyy70[at]yahoo[dot]com

‘Assorted Treats’ and ‘Imperial Heart’ were shortlisted in the Over the Edge New

Writer of the Year Competition 2010

Please contact us if you would like to use any of the poems or photographs

anywhere, thanks!

varnish