sometimes i wanna write beautiful poems on your chest.

I'm so very very organised and committed to my art these last few months.. its an excellent and exciting space to be in with a LOT of very cool and big projects underway. Anyway, I've also been working on my new website. It's still in its baby stages but its looking ok. Go to www.mandybeaumont.com and sign up to the mailing list...

EWF Digital Project.

EWF Digital asked me to be apart of this mash up project. Go check it out!

http://luparapublishing.blogspot.com/2011/06/thenailomen-parts-one-to-three-sjx.html

NYC POETS HOUSE SHOWCASE

If you're in NYC then check this out. I've been asked to be a part of it, which is great! (NYC being my my favourite place in the world and all that!)

Tuesday, June 28–Saturday, July 30
The 19th Annual Poets House Showcase
Members Preview: Tuesday, June 28, 5:00-6:00pm
Opening Reception: Tuesday, June 28, 6:00-8:00pm
On view: through July 30 during regular library hours

And here is the link to the showcase:

http://poetshouse.org/showcase.htm

THE NEW COLLECTION is on its way!

To pre-order the book send an email to contactmandybeaumont(at)gmail.com. RRP. $5.

PENNY BLACK PROJECT

Check out this cool art project Im a part of.

http://pennyblackproject.blogspot.com/

WITH A FULL GIN BREATH

My top 10 reads of this year.

1. Lovesong - Alex Miller - This is just a glorious book.

2. The Road - Cormac Mcathy. I heard the hype for years, I finally picked it up and thought it was total goodness

3. Andrew McGahan - The White Earth. Yeah he is one of my favs, and this book was as good as anything ive read.

4. The White Tiger - Aravind Adiga. Soooo gooood. Travelling through asia, this was great to read.

5. White Palace - Glenn Savan. The movie is one of my favs of all time. I got the book for 20c at an op shop. The book was AMAZING!!

6. Slaughterhouse 5 - Kurt Vonnegut Jr. Ive always wanted to read this. It took me a bit to get into it, but once i got his rythym it was beautiful

7. The Comfort of Strangers - Ian McKewan. McKewan is the BOMB. This story is fucked up dark goodness. Oh god i LOVE him.

8. A Million Little Pieces - James Frey. My friend Sean who owns bent books told me i would like this, and i totally did. Its just a good easy read. I later found out that there was this big controversy on Oprah that he hadnt really lived it and she was ANGRY. This shit me to tears. I wanted to slap Oprah and say 'for fuck sake love he's a writer. He makes stories.'

9. The Colour Purple - Alice Walker. The language in this was so good and the sadness was strong. Op shop find for $1 in newcastle on the recommendation from my friend Matt Lowe.

10. Totem - Luke Davies. Ok ive read this before this year but I read it again and again. It is the most stunning poem ive ever read. Ever. (Sorry Buk)

HAPPY XMAS! WIN A COPY

Well it's Xmas and all that, and in the spirit of giving i thought I'd give away one of my books. All you need to do is go to the MANDY BEAUMONT POEMS FACEBOOK group (where you get lovely, well mostly dirty and gloriously sad poems into your inbox when the urge takes me)and then message some kinda xmas message love, or just say hi and i'll randomly select a punter to get this book for Xmas.

MANDY BEAUMONT POEMS FACEBOOK GROUP:

http://www.facebook.com/?tid=1756793201896&sk=messages#!/group.php?gid=14033285627&v=wall





And, if you dont win and still want some poetry love to give to others this Xmas, go to the ETSY shop and see whats on offer:

http://www.etsy.com/shop/MandyBeaumont

Some Kind Of Tragedy

A week away with friends
to a blues festival
and we’re all back
smelling of all kinds of sweats
and unclean underwear

We find
the new bar in town
and decide to sit right down
Start ordering some drinks,
put our feet up on the tables
and talk with the owners

And it’s been like that now for weeks
and we all keep dancing
on their concrete floors
and falling into the couches
on Sunday afternoons
to bring in the new week

And the owner starts looking at me
in all kinds of strange ways,
asking me to come back to his house after the doors close
and calling me to see if I’d like to go for dinner
at strange and intimate restaurants
Giving me lines of his
high grade coke in the bathroom
and pouring me expensive wines
So I fuck him
and give in to the fact that
he’s overweight and looks
just slightly like a schoolboy
whose mumma irons his clothes

Who has always jerked off more
over girls like me
than actually gotten a taste
of the way we scream
ever
so
slightly
in men’s ears
/truck driver gutter mouth talk/
when they’re fucking us from behind,
grabbing up
to kiss our wet like cloudburst lips
to hear their panting breath
ready to cum.

And I keep fucking him for weeks
cas’ the coke gets stronger
and dinners in fancy bowls
with sparkling water
are feeding me well

But the sight of him naked and
the way his sweat falls into my face
as he’s grunting like some
oversexed kid
who plays computer games with gusto
/cas’ the only way to let it all out
is shoot that fucker
point blank range hard in the head/
is making me sick

So I tell him not to call any more
Not to send me small messages
when he wakes in the morning
Not to come near me when I’m at his bar
but just to serve me drinks
whiskey straight up
ice to the side

And as I’m
telling him this all calm and soft
he’s trying to convince me to fall in love with him
Offering me all kinds of
promises and hollow whispered heat
talking bout those dark things
and superhero full flight games that get me wild

So I start to hang up,
thinking about the
way that this town
crawls in under my skin
/some small insect that
can’t really be seen by the human eye
but which will kill me with great force and voracity in under the covers/

The way that this town makes me
unable to leave the house for days
for fear of running into men like him
Making small talk about the weather
whilst standing
with black roots in my mane of blonde hair
in a shopping centre car park
Smiling at his conversation
and thinking of the way he first put me
hard up against the hallway wall
and slipped so strongly into me
His stomach slapping against mine
asking me if I could call him Sir as he did it

Standing in the heat
Thinking of the tragedy
of his last love and
the way that when he came
he made me look down on him
Trying to find some emotion in my face
to tell him that this one, this girl he’s found is gonna make it all ok
And I stand and think of
the tragedy that I also own
in standing
in this heat
on the end of this phone
at the foot of your bar
at that midnight meeting
falling into your bed
and your cocaine hazy crush


Some kind of tragedy
that began so very long ago
when I began
to feel numb of it all
began to bruise every boy
who could ever matter
Bruised my scalp into sideboards
and my feet into hospital sheet folds

Some kind of tragedy
that now swells into
me writing poems like this one
and fuckin men like you
Men that I’m never
gonna be able to love.

THIS IS NOT ART - STAPLE MANOR POEM

WITH A FULL GIN BREATH

SPARE PARTS - 12 NOVEMBER at the POWERHOUSE.

Ive been given a hip for this show to do my thing with. Here is one of the pics Ive produced with the sexy new hip! For more info on the show go to the Powerhouse website at http://www.brisbanepowerhouse.org/events/view/spare-parts/

BLOOD HAIKU - NEW ZINE OUT NOW!

Once, many years ago, she loved.

To start beauty
he put colour in her face
felt the smooth of her skin
and spoke of it
as a metaphor for love.

He folded her heart into the
great weight of his arms
full of liquor and sadness
Made that fresh May scream at them both
with desperate heartbreaking love.

The sound of silver
His heavy movements
The padding of his feet late at night,
across every grand hour.

These days were loud for her

To end beauty
his sadness became her
and her fingers went white
and wild trying to keep hold.
Black night poured
into the bruises
she made on his knees.
Knees on which he perched
when trying to capture his guilt,
his past
his every moment knowing
he could never
understand love of such great proportions.
Her cheeks glowing with shame
of the way her heart ached
so soon, so very soon
in knowing him.

And the sound
that makes sound
like isolation
seemed to penetrate
every corner of the room.

These days were quiet and small for her

It has been years now
since beauty began.
Since she sat in her hallway
with the girl that loved her the most,
and cried a thousand lives
for the hardness in which
this breathtaking love left her.

And the memory of him now falls inside the heavy notes of Babylon

that sickly sweet tune that seemed to play
every time you stood in her doorway asking her
to love you for everything that you couldn’t be

And up her main street she still thinks every day she sees you more than once

her stomach drops in these instances
and she says to herself that she needs
to escape to a colder climate

As winter has hit this year
she starts to come out
of her teeth pulling
scar making
anaesthetic
(the quiet and small has lasted since you last touched her, you know?)
Starts to pull away the numb
from the sweet casing that has sat around her.
Starts to pull up the carpets,
sell off her clothes
and go on long runs
in the dusk.

Starts to again feel beautiful

She spoke to him last night
for the first time in months
She told him;

‘I still cry for you now and again you know.
My fingers still go white and wild for you.
My heart still wants the loud.
My heart still wants the fresh and healing properties of your magnificent love’.

"I turned silences and nights into words. What was unutterable, I wrote down. I made the whirling world stand still." Arthur Rimbaud.