Hippopotamus Blues

Darling, I'm afraid there's a hippo
In your bathtub.

I spotted her hefty reflection
In your foggy mirror.

I saw her puddles spilled
On your marble floors.

I stared at her for a while.

She seducing me.
She thinking I was you.

She suggesting what I should do.

Darling there's a hippo
In your bathtub
And a disaster
In our dining room;

Hindered by a lengthy table,
Slowed down by a roasted duck,

Distracted by lipstick-stained wineglasses

And wine-stained lips,
And two people who don't know what to do.

 

 

The Mirrored Shadow Of Your Ghost

The mirror of visions that we cannot see
Sheds light upon the necessary
Pains and gains and sufferings
That, to each other, we give as offerings.

The shadows by the tree
Are playing games with me,
They are pretending to care,
Pretending to be there.

The ghost of your affection
Is one that needs much detection,
For in this sea of crimson red,
Die all the truths you never said.

In Memory Of The Water Beads

Our fingers skated on shallow, still waters
Levitating beads of water,
Vast arrays of aquarelle hues,
That leaped higher at every turn,
In a stringent attempt to reach greater heights,
As if they deserved to live among celestial stars.

Foolish water beads,
There is no glory in wishing death.

Enraged Summer Stanza

There were too many words for my mouth,
So they started bursting out of my eyes instead,
In a silent cacophony,
And there I waited, for those sounds to wake you up
And shatter you down.

Aquatic Melodies

The crescendo of pressed and lifted keys
Brings about a stinging aquatic melody
That drips down to the corners
Of his chapped and forgotten lips.

With every consumed drop,
With every unsung song,
Dies the story of a ball gown,
Guardian of a dozen inappropriate secrets.

Those are the secrets he'd trade in
Over and over again,
Only to feel the edge of that double-sided sword,
Only to feel that pulsating pain again.

Backseat Brainwashing

There are two bodies in the backseat of my brain,
Exchanging long-winded lists of sins and ice-cream scoops.
Their eyes are glued to the forbidden corners
of unfamiliar discoveries.
Without parting gazes, their eyes opened
To more than just each others' bare bodies.
Without moving lips, they vehemently changed
The meaning of every conversation they ever shared.
The space that once severed their unison
Now wrapped them together in an invisible embrace,
In a secret bond, their stares knotting their ties,
Their whispers transforming strings into lace.
They wrapped up their conversation in silence,
With one pair of sleep-deprived eyes
Protesting that love is merely an artful ploy
Fashioned by delusional youth,
Who, bemused and ensorcelled by the lyrical unknown,
Insist on dipping their feet into what is but
A desolate lake of fictitious reveries.
In the last livid moments before the oncoming of darkness,
The second pair of veteran eyes
Conjures, in desperation, a fragmented daydream.
There appears an imaginary punching bag:
For every loving moment, comes a wanton destruction
In conscious delusion.
There, in the midst of their surrender,
lies the blind awakening of two destitute beings in love.

How To Dazzle A British Man

July 2010 - written for my American girls (not to be taken seriously!)

(couldn't be bothered about being too good on the chav, and I suppose the whole overall opinion is pretty biased - guess towards which direction! - it's not meant to be taken seriously, at all. None of it, truly. Don't follow my advice. You will definitely fail at dazzling them boyz.)

#1: Case Of The Music-Lover

You’ve met him, the man of your dreams, the man with the accent… and to make things – unfortunately, harder – he has explored every nook and cranny of Britain’s music scene. You’re treading on thin ice, a simple mention of You-Know-Who (in this case, Miley Cyrus) might send him running. So get knowledgeable, submerge yourself in the wonders of the Beatles, Arctic Monkeys, Pigeon Detectives, The Kooks, Hadouken!, Dizzee Rascal and Elton John. You throw in a couple of “the first album was better” and “Definitely The White Album,” and “Yeah, I love Dubstep!” and for the perfect first date you take him to a small gig in Camden Town to listen to an upcoming innovative indie band.

#2: Case Of The Pub-Hogger

England is notorious for its insane binge drinking and lively pubs. The man of your desire is known as Beer-Belly-Bob or Flushed-Out-Fred, and when he decides to take you out, you expect champagne and heels but instead find yourself drowning in Guinness and thick working boots. You dazzle your man by ordering two pints of the best and cheapest beer in the pub – for yourself. He takes this as a challenge and orders three, to which you reply by ordering four more. And so the evening goes, until both of you are attempting Karaoke and accidently stabbing each other with your cigarette ends while you engage in a passionate snogging session in the bathroom stall. The end of the night ends with a lot of projectile vomiting – but hey, at least he introduced you to his pub-friends… He got your name wrong, but that’s only because his veins were flowing with more alcohol than blood. And heck, he texted you saying he wanted to do it all over again next weekend (at least that’s what you managed to decipher). Imagine the look on your parents’ faces when they saw you two together… So you think to yourself “He’s a keeper!”

#3 Case Of The Chav

You met him at the kiddie-park, which is a little bit strange, but he was bullying a little four-year old, and you felt adamant about making him your next man. You always liked the bad-types, and this one takes bad to a whole new level. He looks wimpy, yet he wears tracksuits even though his only sport is watching football. He chain smokes cigarettes and uses so much slang you constantly consider buying an electronic translator. He keeps calling you a slag, and you’re hoping that’s a good thing. He tells you you look better with three inches of foundation plastered onto your face, and before you know it, people start calling you Vicky Pollard. You wonder, is that Victoria Beckham’s nickname? The key to his heart is to do what he tells you to do, no matter what the cost (although we can cut that short when it involves lethal ends). He calls you babes a hundred times a day (and counting), so you reckon that despite the small signs of future domestic abuse, this lad is definitely worth the extra pounds, matching couple tracksuits, and four cotton balls you waste every night taking your new face off.

#4 Case Of The Posh Boy

You met him – surprise, surprise – at a polo game that your friends dragged you to under the pretext of meeting rich young gentlemen. Score! He’s rich, obviously, he has a soft almost pretentious British accent and you swoon at every word he says. To keep him locked up safely without having to fear all the other more beautiful, richer and more posh girls around him, there are three things you will need. Jewelry, Polo, and Croquet. Just remember to remain civilized and stuck up at all times. All times. He’ll ask you out on a second, third and fourth date, and as long as you keep up your preppy image, you’ll be wearing a ring on your finger in no time.

#5: Case Of The Camden Punker

You meet him in Camden Market, and he helps you win a bargain between you and a stubborn salesman. He proceeds to hauling your foreign ass all across the market, pointing out the best places to buy cheap things, without getting carded (wink, wink). You leave the market with your pockets full of stolen goods, a mischievous look on your face and an eccentric boy’s phone-number. He’s all into piercings and darkness and getting involved with the po-po (although you should avoid publically using that term, because Kesha is not up to his standards) and is definitely all for emotions. To best master this man, you are best to channel your inner darker deep soul and bring out the rebel within you. Start smoking – a lot. Cigarettes, weed, lavender pollen, anything that blows out smoke is a pass. Start stealing – start with cheap 1-pound goods and slowly progress to diamonds and banks. He’ll notice you’re high on the bad-ass scale and you’ll definitely be a keeper.