The Noresoup Jukebox

Olivia Dean - Let Alone The One You Love Rhiannon abandoned herself,  west side of the foggy city.  She must have died a few times  and woke up as a newer person; re-attempting each new life to enjoy the feeling.  Then, when they all failed,  she prayed for a lover who would wait. Then, she died a few more deaths, indulging in the dreaming. When the morning came, she heard her mother preaching - praying over her bruises, praying for courage to leave him. When silence did not suffice as an answer, she was made to live out the saying that men repeat with pride among friends - "Women are wet dogs! Wet dogs made for breeding!" Rhiannon was afraid to leave,  to open her eyes; Not from pleasure  but the lost desire to pursue her life. Fearing most to see the sun, to watch her frown at the woman she had become. Well, lucky did she feel when all the clouds had come out to hide all tiny evidences of her firy frightful demise. Disgusted was she in the shower she...

(There Is) No Greater Love - Amy Winehouse Rin and I on our terrace, lungs not yet tainted by smoke               pondered Were we teens when we worried about how much we had grown? My, they had so much in store for them. Blessed are they, for they would never know! The 'L' shaped mark left on the back of Rin's scooter               a testament to it all. And when I open the doors for her, I meet a woman so dignified and strong. Wearing her sister's clothes, but not in the same way she did before. We share a pot of tea, warm in the dining hall.  She shares, I listen, we both reflect and get to the core. Conversations with Rin are easy and never feel like an awful chore. She tells me, I deserve better. I tell her, I know. She tells me that there is someone better. I tell her, I know. She urges me to find myself in him. Ashamed that I couldn't at all. Well, who else would wake me up from a silly, dreamy...

first love/late spring - mitski Sunday, I forget who I am. I return home with a forgotten feeling,  a familiarity - of which, i suppose, i am glad. Well, how dull it all is. This city did not change much. The sermons are the same and the people -  self-righteous, self-important, boring and pompous. Then, well, I got so busy - no time to think. My womanhood in the making as the womb prepares for a baby how dull. how awful. how perpetually annoying. If i were to tear my womb out, will they see beyond the purpose of procreating? well, i know who i am -  uncertain -  well, i know how dull life can be! all i enjoy are the pockets of joy  that people can afford me. I declare it is enough oh but then, the spectacle i become! so I un-declare, groaning, ruminating on what I have done. Monday, I forget who I was. I do not know the bandwidth of my feelings. No, I know better than before. I know better than all that I was before this. 

The 1975 - If I Believe You so here it is, my lazy attempt  at rousing from my poetic slumber   i have not written anything of value but value is not why the poet ponders  since then, i have realised  that i left some people to wonder. they ask me about my faith "Have you pulled the plug? they ask, like it is a dying thing. Afraid that the miracle promised is somewhere yonder. "Aye," dry. "I have," I snicker. Sorry that your miracle did not arrive on time as they preached, and has come to fail us. But I have loved more since then. I do not resent God. In fact, amongst the church-iest bunch  The One i believe in might be the God they once sought. Untamed by ideas of what you deem proper. Unafraid to believe that sins make you prosper. No longer disguised by the romantic idea of the rotten and unrotten - of hell and heaven and whom you segregate among us, the loved and the unloved, the pure, the unpure, the lesser pure who may be saved. Yes, I despised. Still yes...

 One of the toughest things to do in life is to abandon or question your faith. One of the bravest things you might do is assert your position as a sceptic, or worse yet, a non-believer. For what that would mean is committing yourself to lose all your privileges - the kinds that keep you floating. And not only have you sunk your ship deliberately, no boat will take you, and you will have no God to help you grow gills as to survive in the water. And how ironic is it for the community to ostracise a person for doubting when they preach about love, generosity, and acceptance in the church's pews? Were they alcoholics, recovering addicts, or perhaps an adulterer or someone who violates women, oh if the fates had been kind enough to make them turn to actual sin and not the man-made construct of sinful intellect! Well, the boats would have taken them before their fingers pruned from the salty water.  For those sins can be masked with poetic and enthusiastic spiritual rebirth, and on...

Oblivion - Alice Phoebe Lo Well, October was an awful series of events, and I do not wish to revisit most of them. To fool myself into remembering a better autumn, I have counted October's pocket pennies. I have worn out my juttis just as I had hoped to. One is made of cloth and lined in gold, like lace. The other is leathery and tough, and though it hurt my feet for the first 30 wears, the thirty-first was ever so lovely.  The soles have darkened; my love for them has deepened. Juttis can be a steady source of happiness - till they break, of course, but that is then, the loving is now. Yes, my phone did break, and the replacement is awful. However, I now appreciate conversations better and have become far more interested in the stains on my wall. Toothbrush, soapy water, and Alice Phoebe Lou in the background (only because her songs have become happier, and I like to imagine that I have too). My father's visits and my sister's stay kept me busy, and even more so when Salu ...

Alice Phoebe Lou - Pretender silent reader of awful girl poet, I hope your days have been better. recently, I lost 2 sets of keys and the washing machine needed a new motor. my social demise  came on a Sunday when the church could not remember my name. then my phone broke after the 100th drop and the laughter that escaped made me look insane. I positively despise all the company I keep in this God forsaken academic space. I have a male professor I abhor and a female supervisor who I cried to once and now locks her chamber away. silent reader of awful girl poet, I hope the breeze caresses you  dearly perhaps reading about my awfulness, and the unlucky life I'm leading, could help you look at yours and realise  that yours might not be worth leaving. then perhaps I could use my silly poetry to lasso your newfound desire; to live a life that is less awful than mine to spare my thumbs from growing drier and drier.