“We’ve heard a lot about love poems. But what poems could be used to break up with someone?”
Oh dear. Just flicked through my anthology. Rather more than I’d hoped...
Poems To Break Up To...
- The Beaten Heart
- Birdsong
- Cinders Dream
- Darlingrad
- Donkey Marty
- The Eternal Bachelor
- A Hate So Pure
- Love Is Horror
- Lovers in the Grain...
- Not Sonnet 18 Anymore
- Oh What Became of You?
- Should A Man Marry His Best Friend?
- The Sonnet of the Middle Class Marriage
- Tickling the Puma
- Words That Pass In The Night
Extracts from The Rest Is Just Poetry... Pretty Words For An Ugly Day...
© Chris Port, 2010
Should A Man Marry His Best Friend? is my own ‘favourite’. I mean, she’d have to smile... wouldn’t she?
Not Sonnet 18 Anymore is (probably) the nastiest. I’d think it. But I’d never say it... I hope...
* * * * * * * * * *
The Beaten Heart
(from GSOH - Good Sense Of Humour)
© Chris Port, Central School of Speech and Drama, 1999
Put a wrap on that beaten heart;
your swollen tiny fist
just pounds against her smug shut laugh;
all women fight like this.
"I don't feel the same way”
she calmly shrugs,
as if she ever loved;
like a smiling knife, she twists your words,
with a surgeon’s skill, she cuts.
So; pull a smile with a tightening thread
and shut that gaping vein;
let’s turn that razor wit to get
her precise, unblinking pain.
And when that slash of lipstick cries
“Why do you do this to me?”,
just show it that beaten heart and sigh
“I died - and this isn’t me”.
* * * * * * * * * *
Birdsong
© Chris Port, 2010
We men pray when she sings…
some rhymes, that birds have reason.
Feather-brained moron!
Women say many things.
Sometimes they even mean them.
But never for long…
* * * * * * * * * *
Cinders Dream
© Chris Port, 2010
When it’s wintry
Little Tippi
sings as evening
closes shop.
Rows of TVs
lip-synch as she
sinks to both knees
and blow jobs.
Oh poor Cinders,
whores and sinners,
how the wind cuts
dreamlessly
through the skin, such
a cold thin touch
You’re old lovers.
Shamelessly.
* * * * * * * * * *
Darlingrad
(see Stalingrad)
© Chris Port, 2010
Encircle her with compliments;
shell her with affections;
tunnel by moonlight
to the rubble of her heart.
Watch the walls of her mind collapse.
But when you break in
it’s a war of the rats…
and a long starvation…
Love has expanse…
* * * * * * * * * *
Donkey Marty
(from Marty Gull)
© Chris Port, 2010
"You're such a donkey, Don Quixote,
asinine you plod and dream.
I'd rather stroke a Don Juan's goatee"
"Dulcinea, have you seen
the sunrise burst with love and tilt
the earth? Oh fool I've been.
That tatty stubborn mule who carried,
uncomplaining, all your dreams."
* * * * * * * * * *
The Eternal Bachelor
© Chris Port, 2010
Women ask for far too much
and offer far too little.
After all, what’s in a touch?
What’s in a kiss but spittle?
But in her mind what will I find?
Is she, like me, a cripple?
And if we bind two souls in pain
will slipknots make us whole again?
Yes, and yes. The slightest touch
of love repressed must frighten us.
* * * * * * * * * *
A Hate So Pure
© Chris Port, 2010
A hate so pure it’s like being in love.
It dreams of your death as a slow first kiss.
A parting of flesh, a wet open laugh.
It screams for your breath, a demon in bliss.
* * * * * * * * * *
Love Is Horror
© Chris Port, 2011
Love is horror
But I hold her
In the hollow
Of my shoulder
Hopeless if a
Cup of kindness
Lifts up to my lips
I am cursed if the
Thirst of a
Monster
Works me with a kiss...
* * * * * * * * * *
Lovers in the Grain...
© Chris Port, 2010
Paper stone scissor
Mountain wind and rain
Ice snow and fissure
Slowly thaw again
Grass springs to summer
Lovers in the grain
Fall age and winter
Paper bone and pain
* * * * * * * * * *
Not Sonnet 18 Anymore
(with apologies to William Shakespeare)
© Chris Port, 2011
Shall I compare thee to a winter’s night?
Thou art more bitter and in extremis:
North wind grit sweeps the littered streets of light,
And winter’s teeth hath all too sharp a kiss:
Sometime long cold a godless star can wink,
An omen of youth’s rash infection hot.
And every fish to fish foul paste will stink,
With dance and disease sweating yeast and rot.
Now thy nocturnal winter shall not thaw,
Nor gain the wisdom of the age that creeps,
Nor can breast boast now flat chest as a floor
When that mocking bird time cuts fine crow’s feet.
So long as men can laugh or you can dream
So long lives rage, these words will be your scream.
* * * * * * * * * *
Oh What Became of You?
© Chris Port, 2010
One foggy summer morning
turning blue in June
we were walking as the sun
burned off a misty moon.
Wet grass sparkled, you were
dark foot in the dew,
fresh as life, my precious wife.
Oh what became of you?
We crowned the icy pavements,
slippery as tongues,
broke bottles in our pockets meant
to bring down governments.
It's winter and I'm weary.
I'm written paper thin.
Your yellow snow eyes teary look
like Winston Smith and gin.
Puff the magic mushroom
lives in a wood,
and hunted down a horror clown
who grinned because he could.
Puff the magic mushroom,
spores in a breeze,
and deep indoors, these carpet shores,
your room roars like the sea.
* * * * * * * * * *
Should A Man Marry His Best Friend?
© Chris Port, 2010
Why can’t a woman be more like a dog?
Dogs have ten tits! (though they’re not very big).
They’re friendly, brave (though they slobber when snogged)
but if you don’t shave, dogs don’t give a fig.
Dogs love it when you leave one dirty sock
on the bedroom floor. It’s called ‘Hide-and-seek’.
Okay, they eat sick then drink from the bog
then tongue their arse then lick you on the cheek…
But you’ve gagged on girls with smellier breath
- hairier legs, less intelligent eyes…
No dog nags their spouse to physical death
- those quizzical brows never criticize…
The kids will look ugly, I fear that’s true…
but at least they won’t smear their faces with poo.
* * * * * * * * * *
The Sonnet of the Middle Class Marriage
(from UnHappy End)
© Chris Port, Central School of Speech and Drama, 2000
Dear Audience! Cynics! Now we approach
A point where Romantics must lesson take;
For to put it bluntly, Love is a poke
In your one good eye for Marriage’s sake!
For whom but a blind man would marry for love?
Let his sight be cleared by our hard-edged tale!
A Middle-Class Marriage is not enough
To stay together when the Contract’s failed!
Now: a man’s judged not by colour of skin,
Nor even his content of character,
But the size of his Wallet! That’s the thing
Which in the end will always attract her!
Love has thorns and Poverty pales her!
Marry! Man is sworn then born to Failure!
His marriage in ruins,
betrayed by his wife,
these failures put you in
a bad mood for life.
A love-rat successful
at home in his bed,
his failure more stressful,
it gnawed in his head.
He hurt so he shot her
but who is to blame?
Is a man born to failure?
Who set up this game?
His guilt breaks the silence!
“I’ve murdered my son!”
For failure breeds violence.
And that is the lesson.
So now we reach our un-happy ending.
Rich and poor can now embrace.
Once the cash is not a problem
Happy endings can take place!
* * * * * * * * * *
Tickling the Puma
© Chris Port, 2011
[For Peter]
There once was a woman called Uma
Who giggled and tickled a puma
Her friends were in fits
But Uma’s in bits
For pumas have no sense of humour
* * * * * * * * * *
Words That Pass In The Night
© Chris Port, 2010
Words that pass in the night.
Those messages of stars and light.
Missing each other by lives.
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