Adrian CoxI write poems to amuse myself. I have a collection of 23 poems.The collection is called LOOK.I was born in Lincoln England on 28/4/65. I was educated atRobert Pattinson School and left in 1981. Later I studied atthe Open University where I studied mathematics and got aBachelor of Science Open degree.I currently live with my girlfriend in Nottinghamshire, whereI work as a Support Worker for learning disabilities, complexneeds and challenging behavour.I enjoy playing the guitar and have some videos on youtube underemo adi and I have a web site at http: //emoadi.webs.com/http://www.poemhunter.com/adrian-cox/http://www.muziboo.com/coax1965/music/albums/emo-adi-coax-a-rindhttp://www.youtube.com/user/coax1965http://www.myspace.com/adriancox1965http://www.flickr.com/photos/adicox/
LOOKby Adrian Cox BSc(open)1 A Black In The Eye2 Broken3 End Game4 Fiendish Little Circles5 Gothic Scene6 Last Orders7 Melancholy8 Migrants9 Operators Of Control10 Poker11 Sentenced To Death12 Smashed13 Something That She Said14 Sunday Night, Monday Morning15 Surface16 Tea Time17 The Abuse And Calculations Of Perfect Patricia Plenitude18 The Demise Of Spiderman And The Flygirl19 The way Im Being Led20 Thoughts And Dreams21 To Utopia22 University Menu23 Washed Upadycox@hotmail.co.uk
A Black In The EyeHands swing arounda circle of numberstill they reach outboth of them,grab you by the lapelsthen smack you in the eye.Youre late for work again.
Broken"Mirror, mirror off the wallhow did you come to drop and fall?With silver slithers of pointed glasshow did this moment come to pass?The telling crash of noise abounda multitude of division foundstrewn across a slippery floor,you fell and now you are no morethan the memory of what used to be.A reflection now you cannot see"She went out of her window.Smashed her mindlike a pain of glass.When she spokeit was like sharpe glassall around me,her clear cut logiccut deep with transparency.Disasters say so much,so clearly and preciselybut with such profound impactas to never to come out nicely.
EndgameTake on board the game is over.Your mind frequentsa deep and thoughtful checkmate.A poignant move from the queenfornicates in alliance with the knight.To leave you down and out,divorced from reason.
Fiendish Little CirclesFollowing footstepsfaintly in the snow,Ive got the scentI know which way to go.Fiendish little monstersmells like food.Over fields, into woodsI look behind every tree.The scent is strongI expect it will jump out,I hear myself breathingwhilst quietly looking about.Suddenly in my facea smiling circle with a frown,I smack him over the headterminally beat him down.Left in excited shockIm ready to eat,starting at the bottomwith its candy flavoured feet.I feel other monsterswatching from afar,eyes blinking in the darknesslittle bastards!
Gothic SceneBeneth gas lampsblack nights skiesto eary soundsof distant crieswe walk streetscobbled stonesthrough darkened alleyssqualid zones.In candle lightmisery strainsthrough smudged glassof dirty painsfrom lonely roomsin dancing lightthat calls outinto the night.A lack of hopein darkened shame,black of nightin cold and raindrips from eavesto an icicle morning.Clear and coldand pointing downaustere spikeshang downas rods or barsin front of pain glass windows.
Last OrdersFrom the opticsof her trancendent mindhe pours himselfa sociable measure, andsavours the spiritas it quenches the thirstof his aquired tastefor pleasure.
Melancholy Turns UpIm fast asleep, the rain pours down on this winters day.My room is dark, the sky outside is grey.Im like climbing up a cliff face while gravity pulls me down.one jump thats all it takes, just one slip to get me down.The icy ledge is my life, Im feeling pretty cold.Dreaming I can feel my feet slipping from my hold.Its just another day, as i wake up I feel sad.Waiting for work at two Oclock, something I wish I never had.Turn up the stereo, play some jazz man.Lay back in bed Im an avid jazz fan.A watch on my wrist ticking away the second hand.Im conscious of the time because Ill soon be in demand.deep down inside Ive got the blues.Waiting for work its just bad news.Its Monday afternoon, Im starting work soon.T urn up the tape its a sad jazz tune.The rain has stopped, but the wind howls by.Clouds move fast across the winters cold and sunny sky.Im drinking cups of coffee tasting pretty sour.Sitting on my bed Ive been contemplating here for almost an hour.Im listerning to some more jazz music on my stereowhilst waiting for work on late shift, but I dont want to go.
MigrantsOn a black and white pedestrian crossingholding up the trafficwith a skateboard under one arm,he frantically picks dropped coinslit up by car lightsthat impatiently shinefrom an increasing queue.Making a nuisance of themselvesherds of teenagers migrate in timethrough neighbourhood streets of adolescenceheading for streets of adulthood,where they will be addressedwith rent or mortgage.Some may go to prison.
Operators Of Control* Sunny multiplication+ shines through additional air,/ glistens on waters of division- that stand on a muddy bed of subtraction. So like an operand I interact affectedly.
PokerI became the joker,you wouldnt deal me in.I never had the chance to playand so I couldnt win.If you had been my queen of heartsI would have found my place,by being the king in the packI could have laid an ace.
Sentenced To DeathHanged from the gallowsof creative writing.Swinging from the gibbetof sentence construction.With grammar that standson the essence of her voice,the alphabet hung as a necklacearound the vocality of her wordy neck.Shed wanted toswallow all the lettersin quick successionpunctuation as well,but that would have been suicide.
SmashedI walk towards a gangof teenage girlson the street corner.One of them throwsan empty vodka bottleto the pavementwith a brittle clank.Awkwardlyshe looks to me.I say nothing,I look into her vacant stareas I walk past,Knowing Ive shared her statemany timesand so shes smashed,but the bottle remains intact.
Something That She SaidShe had so much potential it sometimes got her down,she didn’t like her work but it got her into town.It really was a problem but she chose to ignore it,like clothes that dont fit stubbornly she wore it.In a mad rush she did a foolish thing,in a split second a split thought would bringan indecision she made a silly choice.She opened up her mouth to articulate her voice.Across the smoke filled bar room sounds were drunkenas the drinkers sat and chatted slumped and sunken.
Sunday Night, Monday MorningI get in bed from rain I hideunder covers deep insidewhere I like to bewhere my bed and I seem to agree.Im tired, a physical state.A humming in my earstells me Im up too late.with legs of jelly, feet like leadI feel am the living dead.At around the midnight hourtheres a tapping on my windowfrom a midnight shower.Theres no one in the streets below.The cold is now begining to showits winter time but Im feeling warmalthough Im not on top form.A manic Monday lies aheadSo in the meantimeI savour this moment in bed.I wake to hear traffic belowTo see outside falling snow.I smell fried breakfast waiting to bewashed down with a mug of tea.Its Monday morning lazy and stillIll ring work tell them Im ill!
SurfaceA face ripples in waves of lightto stare back from the waters edge.Reflecting thoughtfully as surface swellslaps with delight the waters edge.
Tea TimeCan you imagine?my tease so nice,sweet with sugarfull of spice.Making me sighI was hungry and blue,her sponge was a beautyfluffy its true.Full cream milkwarm by keeping abreast,I quench my thirstinwardly digest.I drink her thoughtsthey always delightshe feeds my mind,I take such big bites.Fish on a dishsalty and hot,I eat her proteinall that shes got.Her buffets are alwaysa jolly good spread,she always makes sure,I get well fed.We make a loafshe lets it grow,rising in the ovenbaking the dough.I was never starved,no girl could beat her,she was so tastefulI just had to eat her.
The Abuse And Calculations Of Perfect Patricia PlenitudeReciprocal Roger had nothing going on.He hurled abuse at Patricia until she was to the power of minus one.Roger became the man Patricia loved to hate,but over time she recovered back to her positive twenty eight.Along came Chris to two decimal places he was a radical sign.He squarely rooted Patricia until she was five point two nine.She lost her integrity, an integer no more.She decided to try a cubic root this gives a really radical score.Dick was only of a medium size,but accurate to five sig figs, it opened Patricias eyes.So now that Patricia has become an irrational surdDo you know what number occured?To nought point nought nought nought one, to Patricias horrorshe found he was positively a relative error, but thats another riddle.
The Demise Of Spiderman And Fly GirlFrom between moving clouds out of blue sky way beyond the sun shines through temperamentally down into our pensive atmosphere.Onto a capitalistic spider as he spins his business web from the branches of the systems tree.On a poor fly trapped in the bondage of regulations and eaten up in her own sexuality.But subversive winds of change blows through the branches destroying the spiders web of gain.Then the crying rain comes roaring down and the spider is washed up; down into a muddy drain.
The Way Im Being LedMiddle of the roadI try to decide a way to be,traffic lights stuck on redall roads signed no entryThe roads are dangerous.The flowers by the roadsidedid not grow there.Someone placed them.I get in the right laneIts a one way systemtheres no turning back.Street lights are yellowunder a sky thats turned so black.I cant believe it,a magnificent traffic systembeyond my wildest dreams.A multi-storey roundaboutis way on up aheadand with the flow of trafficits the way Im being led.
Thoughts And DreamsInside my empty roomtheres only pictures in the dark,Im thinking in my solitudebecause thoughts are what we are.Outside in the darknessfaintly I hear a distant car,now Im dreaming in my solitudebecause dreams are what we are.
To UtopiaStrolling up along a rocky mountain passto a world so green, so very full of grass.Travelling up along to pastures newin a world so very clear under a sky so blue.We arrive at the country of No time at allnot in this realm of space,in the shire of Nowherein a town called Someplace.Now Someplace boasts proudly a colourful arraya dreamtown in nowhere with a brighter breezier way,as the towering medievil buildings transparent or colourfully opaquereflect thoughtfully onto the tranquil lake:Within illuminated illusions under a pleasurable poisoned yellow skycleaning myself of reality delightfully I cry,a mana in the wilderness the smells of intrigue and alluredont want to find an antidote lets forget about a cure.
University menuFirst Course: A large bowl of calculus to dip a mixed bag of polynomials in. Hot cups of trigonometry and algebra can be served all day.Second Course: Tantalizing flavours of metaphors and similes with non-sequator fillings, served by our hard working non de plume staff.Your tips are generously receivedThankyou for not joking*Recreational comody and other illicit pastimes will NOT be tolerated by the management!
Washed UpIt feels like theres no escapingthe blinding ness of the darkness of fear.So deep and dark are these watersthat the sun cannot shine down here.My face is straight,I feel deep emotions as I speakand imagine the tears of sadnessare rolling down my cheek.Sadness cleans my mindit clears my clouded headas I swim in emotionsthrough the watershed.Through turbulent murky watersfull of stress and distortion,onto a never ending shorelinewith all its complications.Persistent waves keep rolling into shorebut there are undercurrents of doubt,because although the waves keep crashing inthe tide is moving out.So here I am like a voyagerlike a crustacean in another land.A lost stranger stranded,washed up on the sand.