www.ndruintheinter.net

mostly by Andrew 'ndru' Williams. I'M SUPER SERIOUS ABOUT ART AND CAPS LOCK and turning everything off. go to www.ePennyPress.co.uk for regular writing contests (cash prize for first place)! \:D/

[discoetry]

come through the dangerous years alive

[discoetry]

THERE IS NO ESCAPE

OR WAY TO DEMASK FATE EVERYTHING HAPPENS AS IS  OR WOULD DO, IF WE COULD ONLY SWIM TOGETHER DANCE AMONGST THE STARS WE ARE ALWAYS EATING CHEDDAR LIKE BIKER MICE FROM MARS

THIS IS WHAT IS HAPPENING: FOR EVER AND EVER AMEN. WALK WITH ONE ARM RAISED IN FURY AT THE SKY THE STRAIN WILL OUTWEIGH ANY EMBARRASSMENT, SO ALTERNATE EVERY MILE

[discoetry]

song

i would slaughter or enslave anybody ever to cross you destroy the Earth, gouge out every bright rock and mineral pile them up a mile high above my house

just to catch your eye and create a smile or at least some semblance of wonder as you pass by

DAILY 

i drink poison

swim with crocodiles 

destroy my self to become someone else

FOR YOU I EXIST! I’M YOURS!

decades from now i’ll be

shouting your name in a storm

asking why i bothered growing up why

i didn’t sign my life away to war

[discoetry]

hook

I’ve forgotten how to fly!

well, one does.

No more happy thoughts - lost, lost.

In a crisis we English make a cup of tea. Hand me my book, please, it’s time to tell you at last.

[discoetry]

Oxxxymiron - "Последний Звонок" (клип) HD

Неофициальный клип на песню "Oxxxymiron - Последний Звонок" Кадры из фильма "Класс"

Feeling this 

[discoetry]

ad hominem

Years of frenzied writing, writing two, three, four poems some nights

accounts for, and amounts to,

nothing.

Poetry is for idiots and children screaming on the internet, ceaselessly squeaking for attention from the absent

moonborn ghostking in the sky.

Intellectuals unable to cook a meal or fix the damp in the corner force ontological arguments and emotional stigmata into the minutest of moments

what for?

We are, and this is, literally nothing

worth thinking twice or writing about.

Hang up your pen, mine’s snapped and leaking shit-fluid over everything previous

grab my hand, count to three, tighten the belt then do as I did and destroy your self.

[discoetry]

650 metres beneath the sea

By distance or familiarity, waves once roaring overhead are now muted by the black. The clear-dark blue volume weighing down on us immortals is unfathomable, we are crushed, yet alive. We are five: three men, two women, and we are doomed to live forever.

Attuned to nature’s undulations we hear nothing except wale-song on the occasion, there was a lot of staring and touching at first but now, passed the stages of hope and panic we are motionless, part of the scenery, somnambulists watching nothing as even the sun is drowned by depth.

Everything previous is unimportant - except that one meeting with the sorceress - our once great families, struggles, achievements, even the name of our city flees from memory.

Sometimes I think I remember what it was like before the flood, baked fish, cut grass, cinnamon buns - but logic chases away those thoughts; few of us were over a thousand-years-old back then, traders, conquerors, rich land owners all - but still ninety-nine percent of our lives has been spent in this pit underwater longing for death.

All we know is what we’ve seen: life is light giving way to dark.

The sun will die, the Earth will stop, we are to remain for ever, tortured by sleepless consciousness in the dark.

[discoetry]

Neil Young - It’s a dream. (only a dream, and it’s fading now)

[discoetry]

don’t talk, cry,

cry if you must. I’ll cup my hands and catch every drop together we can work it out, run our fingers through the mess and sift out the salt, as easily as plucking hair from a plate or saying no to the universe when it knocks at your door and asks you out to play.

Listen, all that’s important is warmth and having something to kill the hunger, look up, lie in the grass during summer - the universe is good! Answer when it calls! Just remember to keep your head down ignore the locals and cry when you must.

[discoetry]

STANZAS

1.  I don’t want to spend the last penny of my soul among hothouse adolescents. I go to the world as the single peasant goes to the collective and I find the people good.

2. As a stream falls from a single crack in a glacier and its taste has two faces, one forward one  backward, and one is sweet and one hard,

so I die for the last time through each moment of these days, and one way the old sighing frees me no longer, and the other way the goal can no longer be seen.

-Osip Mandelstam

[discoetry]

PEOPLE WHO USE THE WORDS GRUNGE/HIPSTER/VINTAGE IN A SINCERE/UN-IRONIC WAY:

stop it

[discoetry]

nightwalking

the church at the top of the hill is 15 minutes away from my house, something drew me out tonight, an energy in the air or pseudo euphoria - whatever I heard a screech and stopped for a bit thought that maybe, maybe I’m too close to crashing to be out this late.

Carried on walking to Sudley field, sat on top of the hill overlooking South Liverpool, during daytime you can see a sliver of Mersey and the Welsh mountains fading in and out behind it.

Ambushed by the sameish place where I last sat with Buster. He was nan’s dog, we raised him from a pup and since he passed of old age they’ve had two more; weird how memory stirs to life when faced with the familiar...

I look up; a thousand million houses congregate, flicker their orange eyes at one another aggressively; this could be anywhere, I could be anybody there might be someone else sitting somewhere else drunk and dumb dumb and drunken on the majesty of angry clouds.

A group of lads make a bee-line for me and I decide to leave, when I pass the gate they shout something but I’ve been in this situation before  so I keep my head down and keep walking, at least downhill and with the traffic is easier, even when buffeted by a wind fronting calm and demure but don’t believe it, I’ve watched guys like this tear the arms off of trees.

-ndru

[discoetry]

Porcupine Tree - Trains

[epennypress]

POETRY CONTEST!

£50 Prize for first place! Easily readable font, maximum 25 lines, any subject or theme! Deadline: July 5th, 2015. Winner announced a week after the closing date. £2.19 per submission, or three submissions for £5.00! email submissions to [email protected] and await an invoice for the submission fee. Good luck! And all the best, from ePennyPress, write-on!

[discoetry]

it’s chilly and starving in here

I’ve been playing Age of Wonders 3

sinking whole daynights into it when I should be working, writing.

Downstairs the house stinks of dog piss dried in to the bathroom floor, I refuse to clean it again, instead upstairs in my room I hide guarded by incense, a window wedge, a fan.

Back to work. To open the document and type something I’ve already typed before. To realise I’ve been writing the same poem since it happened.

To hit delete. To close the file and grab a book and read something and post it online as if to appear productive, just incase the landlord bugged the bedrooms and watches me, tea-and-biscuits in hand, judgingly.

Maybe he’s like God, he wants to help us, to say hello and work things out, but can’t, or he’d have to explain his senseless not to mention invasive, spying on us it is a bit perverted, actually. Maybe god’s just too embarrassed of himself to help,

-ndru

[discoetry]

The Sea Battle

An American aircraft carrier and a Gothic cathedral simultaneously sank each other in the middle of the Pacific. To the last the young curate played on the organ. Now aeroplanes and angels hang in the air and have nowhere to land.

-Gunter Grass

[discoetry]

Memento Mori

There is no need for me to keep a skull on my desk, to stand with one foot up on the ruins of Rome, or wear a locket with the sliver of a saint’s bone.

It is enough to realize that every common object in this sunny little room will outlive me - the carpet, radio, bookstand, and rocker.

Not one of these things will attend my burial, not even this dented goosenecked lamp with its steady benediction of light,

though I could put worse things in my mind than the image of it waddling across the cemetery like an old servant, dragging the tail of its cord, the small circle of mourners parting to make room.

-Billy Collins