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Michael Mendones


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About Me

Michael hates referring to himself in the third person and is studying an MA in Social Research (Sociology). He was a performance poet (he still writes occasionally), and is a musician (recently he returned to modernist composition and experimental forms after many years of making multi-genre 'popular' music). His research interests encompass the notion that spatiality, modernity and the 'crisis of masculinity' in the West have resulted in higher suicidality among men (approximately FOUR times as many men kill themselves as women). Oh yes, and he's pretty much interested in anything else under the sun...

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Poems about love, hate and cigarettes

Four poems which discuss the nature of friendship, love, trust and the joys and pains of smoking.

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SPEED DEMON

We used to ponder preponderance

lying in wait for fin de siecle musing

we used to wander in wonderment

waiting for lies which weren’t amusing

Now, watching malevolently

my watchful eyes

encompass your threadbare form decaying

your fierce mind addled by escapism

fuelled by melancholy

We used to believe the believable

that insignificance influenced megamacrocosmos

we used to possess the dispossessed

now you feel nothingness, infinitely tiny

We used to perceive the unperceivable

seeing as believing our senses

we used to agree the disagreeable

in each other was what we loved

At this moment, you sense that belief

is seeing narrowly your essence disperse

whilst us has dissipated easily

that we only exist now as words

Disengaged, we is me –

as the past rots, the future echoes

return nothing but shame.

WE ARE SHOWROOM DUMMIES – for Peta Harrison

Nature – you great deceiver

irrepressible winds swirl

sweep up debris into the ether

while she is cold, my little girl.

Spreading warmth of sunglow

replenish colour to pallid cheeks

sunburst – highlight tawny brown, show

herself, droplets, fine mist leaks.

Tidecoat beachgrains encroach

deceptively quick, slow realisation

dawns, too late to approach

and stop her from migration.

Smite jagged blows, split

into caves, where my girl was carried into the dark

gloom where leatherwings flit

and leave their sonic mark.

Rain smatters not, pinpointing

naive targets, like barbed words

ripping, the sharply soft pling pling

spears, vision wavers, blurred.

Tears of fire scorch, caramelising

her trust – she gave, he didn’t.

He heard her sing

Now he will do what he is bidden.

THE TALE OF AWESOME HORSHAM – for Davina Yardley

( I )

It never ends,

this painful joy

when oaks befall

the token whims

of sentinels standing by the barn

and jennies spinning

yard by yard

I saw the agate

forming slow

and calcite harden

into itself

but all that,

I remember least

when thinking of West Sussex cheese.

( II )

She, sitting beneath the monument,

hears the rushing waters cease

deep opalescent pools gleam

behind them, thoughts unreadable.

( III )

And on, from little havens grew,

light dusk, the merry thoughts
eat in
while laughter rumbling echoes back

and forth in ping-pong stereo streams

And on, they walk like land-locked ducks

to where, no one can tell –

two sweethearts, children, hand-in-hand

pass by, a wistfulness aroused.

( IV )

Astonishment surpasses joy,

defeats the pain –

her hot hand magical.

And at the station of depart

she demonstrates the truth she knows.

But all that,

I remember least

for pure bright energy released

me,

It released me again.

CIGARETTES ARE SUBLIME

Catchfire quicken; the slow

pull of match head on glass

paper emasculates.

Fast relief from pain

releases like orgasm,

pissing.

Hands of a writer clutch

pen-like. Wand weaves

bluesmokemagic,

drifting.

Ascension parallels tension dispersal.

I crave you more than woman,

more than sustenance.

Quickening pulse.

Indefinable anxiety.

Addict.

Halogen glow worms into

hidden nighttimes

assist neuron fire,

concentrate.

Each shortening stick,

beckoning,

scythes time

meandering its wending path

towards black tar,

coating.

Yet still, despite

the innumerable heads you sulphurated,

I love you, twenty times a day,

Hating myself.



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