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Carol Swan

of

Newcastle Upon Tyne, England, UK

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carolswan@uktheatre.net (Carol Swan)


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The Muse

by

Carol Swan

'Your touch, your taste, your smell, your ways
memories twisting out tears.'

Musing into motion with paper and pen
how almost comical misery can be.
If I opened my heart in written form
would I be considered a genius,
or a failing amateur?
Would my words be looked on in scorn
or held up as example,
be dissected and debated,
rehearsed and performed to an audience moved
or rejected and put to the flame?
How terrifying then
that my only audience is you.
Not millions or thousands
or hundreds or two's.
Just you,
the muse who moved me to write this in the first place.


Goodbye

by

Carol Swan

As the moon bids well the sun
I watch as you dream
But all I can do is stand here
shrouded in the silky smoke of my cigarette
the chill shivering my spine
like the feelings you gave me once
when we first met
when we knew the sun
You're kisses would strip me defenceless
as you braded me with halos
and handfuls of rainbows
slowly becoming victims of a game
Reaching for a true love
as if there was no tomorrow
and no one else
Learning to live with a feeling
that we couldn't rise above
But now our world has frozen
and I need an axe to break the ice
we saw but ignored the gap
growing between us
never being filled
and though we've tried to bridge the distance
we have to admit defeat
So I finish my cigarette in the twilight
and sit at the bottom of our bed
and I cry, a little
as I aim the pistol at your head.

Missing You

by

Carol Swan

Another day begins
light filtered through the curtains
breaking into sleep
sounds deciphered as early morning
the noise of a city
coming to life
shrugging off the cocoon of the bed
another empty stomach day begins
wondering how it will end
how long it will take
from morning to night
what will the hours bring
to give me reason to get out of bed
but none to get back in.

Untitled

by

Carol Swan

There isn't a shade over the lightbulb
the comics on the windowsill
don't belong t me
I came here just to see
what all the rooms were like.
They all look fine to me.
The mosaic tiling on the fireplace
remind me of the one my gran used to have
in the flat she lived in
before we moved her to a home.
I would read anything as a child
and I shut my eyes to read the tiles
with my fingertips
There isn't a shade over the lightbulb
and the comics on the windowsill
don't belong to me
and all that used to be
the man above, my friend, my enemy
make a stranger out of me.

'Fool for Flattery'

by

Carol Swan

I faltered in flattery
a physical synchronicity
his sinew to my soft flesh
I loved my sin accomplice
my self-respect lost
was the nuisance to bind us
the noose of a love
tied me up with the twine
of the twilight in his eyes
they were blue
I was lost and found
and lost and bound
to his gentle persuasion
he untied me
rebounding from rebound
he was something from nothing
all an act, all for show
all talking, all taking
no substance
abuse of his substance
the smackheads and losers
alcoholics, delinquents
he chooses to use as his muse
he will lose
He's a fool
I'm a fool for a fool

Pink Soap

by

Carol Swan

Pink soap
white skin
I lie back to let it sink in
vermillion clouds suffuse the water red
I am marooned in cherry
awash with wine
bathing in this shallow pigment of me
the net of my comb clutches corrals of scarlett
from syrupy, tentacled, seaweeds if hair
I am bloodstained
and blood drained
as each heart with love for me shatters on sight
I lie back to let it sink in.