What would you like?
All I can make is tea.
What shall I say – all
I can think is lines of words.
I’ll wash the dishes. You just
sit there and have a drink
while I tidy up this mess –
It saves me having to think.
Did I actually sleep six hours?
Has all that time passed by
like Christmas Eve, and morning
has arrived sudden but awaited.
Fed up with my company
am I now – I can’t think why.
I could go out, I could sleep,
drink, write, cry, die.
The Inner Within
I’ve been as fas as I can go,
but only with myself.
through the physics of love
and mental breakdown;
depression and petulance;
I have been within.
I cannot believe a love for me
possessed by someone else.
it cannot be and shall not see
the light of my heart.
I’ve been as close as I dare go
to that fickle flame,
and only I will feel its cold…
Sourgrapes
what shall I do?
whatever it is,
it won’t involve you.
whereever I go,
away from here
where you can’t know,
YOU’LL STILL BE THERE.
whatever I chance,
are you threatened
by my independance?
I’LL STILL BE LOVING YOU.
there’s me and thee
and me and myself.
YET IN DEATH WITH YOU I DIE.
10 BEARS
through the doors of bedrooms
you can hear my songs.
if you listen close enough
you can hear my heart.
I fill pages of books
with thoughts about you,
still I live off your looks,
my tongue set alight.
through the folds in my jeans
you touch where I feel,
as cootchie as ten bears,
my god, I could hug you!
but you must love me
from your heart
before you can tear me apart.
Go Home To Mother
even his long-time love
who said she’d never desert him
has failed him.
where is she now the line has cleared?
the warmth is cut like ice, for
she is cruel and cold – he’s bitter.
this flaxon haired – and bonny-built
lad has saved one hundred pages
in his diary for her.
she shows no emotion.
all pinafore strings are severed,
cut with blades of frozen sweat,
he falls apart from long-time lover:
he could always go home to mother.
Headache
morning sweetness!
I woke today
with you on my mind.
while hot and bothered
I felt your arms
as I showered.
hot and horny I
thanked my stars
I had woken without
you on my pillow,
and I hadn’t been raised
on “Ask The Family”
or you might have slept
with me in my bed
and there could have been
a hot-crossed bun
in the oven by now.
I’ll Phone You
I’ll phone you from work –
I’ll feel safer there.
my brain will be on,
have been exercised
and I’ll be amongst
fellow people and machines
that will rush together
to support my mass
if I fall from the chair
when I hear you speak.
I’ll stay late and I’ll phone
where I’m safe and sound;
where you’ll be a voice
like the others thru’ the day.
Charming,sensitive
you like talking
and the sound of your voice.
I like listening and playing your accent.
you give what you want
and I take what I need.
now smell the curries and valium
and mountains of cream in my teas.
how I’d love to cry
but there’s nothing to cry for;
and I grow everytime
in a charming, sensitive way.
Modelling
I could have been a model,
so I haven’t been told:
I do not have a neck
which could commercially
be sold.
it’s been said
that I have not the head
with correct structure,
the bones are scaffolded,
my skin is folded,
the cheeks are tucked:
my modelling career is
not very promising.
Glass Box In Vision – Part 3
I wilt and I thin
For glassier days,
Of insects on the playground.
Sun scorched tarmac
Warm to my heart,
My golden childhood crowned.
The valleys of grey
Beckon me on
To the snow and deep stiring streams.
But gone are the days
Of daisy flood hills
Left in the oakend and ashen dreams.
This power of attorney lays down my life,
Thus, my life I must lay down too.
Gone,
Glass Box In Vision – Part 2
Oh’ man in the moon…
Thou art lunatic,
In looks,
In race,
And in mind.
Oh’ you are so distant
From this body,
From others,
In sight
And in mind.
But between two globes
Of lumining myst,
My heart lies,
I live not…
…I don’t mind.
Glass Box In Vision – Part 1
To calm my heart
And quench my need,
Hold me close to your harvest seed.
Give me what
Belongs to me
I want you now obsessively.
Then when I die
On your piercing knife-
At least take comfort that you gave me life.
Glass Box In Vision
Show Biz Superstar
Fat Cat’s First Book
East India
Ruth
New Work
Safe Sex
she’s dead,
dead good
in bed,
on her head;
in the air;
thru’ the hair,
envy her there.
find me often
dancing in her
underwear,
wearing in her
bright new pair
of shoes.
About the poetry
The poetry collections on this web site represent the work during Scott Hill’s most prolific period – through the late eighties and very early nineties. Scott’s pen ran dry around 1993, but that’s hardly surprising as it was around then that he had his first requited relationships: with people and with music. There was just no longer any need for pen and paper when Scott could chew the ears off his friends, and make new friends through dance.
Scott misses writing. Long before the web presented a new creative outlet, Scott was able to not only communicate but do so in a way that allowed him to design, engineer and produce. But as much as Scott misses writing, he prefers chewing the cud and laughing with his friends. Maybe one day if his friends stop listening, the pen and paper will be there for him.
Best Before End Of
I’ve this spinning top inside me
Spinning far too fast.
It sparks in all directions,
Each spark hits home a truth,
I can no longer handle,
And bearance is a memory.
Blinkered, blind and bottled,
Where is tomorrow when
There’s nothing inbetween,
No understanding, no wanting.
Too much is wrong but
My resistance is gone.
A breeding ground for more
Of less, self denying, self consuming.
Don’t Waste It On A Lover
your precious love –
take it out on friends and others.
reclaim what you wasted
and reapply
to friends and significant others.
there is no other.
no matter what guise,
under the influence
of fluid or gin,
no other like mother.
don’t waste it
on a lover.