Polythene Bag Blues

Black polythene bag sailing the skies,
Tell me little about you.
Spill your secrets like fries,
Shooting out from their paper bag.
Your obsidian wrinkles don’t have nothing on you,
You wizened old hag.

How does it feel like to fly?
I wonder.
You don’t even have wings,
But you crest the thermals with the raptors,
Sharing your airspace with nobility.
Even the grungy vultures add you in their chapters.

I feel sorry for you,
Trapped on a pylon,
Flapping forlornly in the whistling wind,
Like a scarf made of nylon.
Tattered like a madman’s wig.

You were once the pick of the bunch,
Adaptable and multifunctional,
Forgive the tautology,
But who would have thought?
That you would be let go.
“You’re rubbish” is what is being taught.

Poly bag,
It’s not like you’re bad or anything,
You’re just no longer wanted.
The Louis Vuittons and the Jimmy Choos,
Even the cheap fakes are preferred to you.
Their insipid designs they choose.
But it’s cool.

You held far more important things,
Than make up and fake jewellery.
State secrets,
That only you and the chamber pot exchange giggles over.
I know right!
You’ve lived a grand life.

So fly you polythene bag,
Remember you’re not a poly thing,
And that the names will fade.
They take their mortality too seriously,
But your half-life transcends these petty organics.
Bon voyage mon ami!

© Sena Frost 2015


When We Were Young



Dear brother,

As I write to you,

I am awash with memories,

A timeline of pictures streaming backwards.

This is an effusion of love,

My tale of pride,

Of the life we have shared,


I love you,

Alternate combination of our parent’s DNA,

Alleles and genomes sequenced in a slightly different pattern.

I remember you in my earliest memories.

A young thing,

A new baby,

My own little brother.

No questions,

Just accepting

That what is mine is yours

The first lesson on sharing.

You are my first friend,

My rival,

My team mate,

My vociferous side kick,

My brother,

You are.

In the dawn of our lives,

I watched over you,

Aware that if anything happened to you,

I was going to be beaten badly.

I hated you sometimes,

Oh how you’d frame me

For something you did.

I guess you were painting a picture of forgiveness and resolution.

I remember your tantrums,

Your little face going red as you sulk.

Your preference for coins over paper money because there was simply to much of them for you to lose all at a go.

I remember your love for yellow,

Remaining true to it throughout everything.

I always loved telling you things you didn’t know,

Then you’d put your finger on your chin and look into the sky pensively.

I remember the look of worry etched on your face when I stood on the brink of death.

I remember everything

That these pages couldn’t hold.

I know you play football with your left foot,

Draw your funny versions of my drawings.

They always left me wondering,

If you had applied yourself a little more,

You could have been me.

But then you didn’t

And you have grown

To be your own man.

Driven and focused,

Forever pushing me to better myself,


When we were young,

We were inseparable.

Like fire and smoke,

Milling round our point of combustion,

Our adventures,


Roaming the lengths and breadths of our city.

The labyrinthine depths of our shared mind,

Not two halves of a whole,

But two wholes in our very own dimension,

A wormhole,

Of our fantasies and visions.

We are different

But when you look at our music,

Notes gliding on the scale

We couldn’t be more similar.

When we were young,

We traded blows,

And cried,

And took bullets for each other.

You are,

My best man,

My first friend,

My rival,

My motivator,

You are,

Blood of my blood,

The never ending movie,

The soap opera

That our lives are

Which never stops playing.

Forever stuck in when we were young.

I want you to know that,

I am there for you.

You are my pride,

Because you are you,

And for that,

I am content.

I give you my love,

As your brother.



~for Enyonam

© Sena Frost 2015

Black Hole

Vanishing point,
That spot on the horizon where all lines converge.
Its a simple matter of perspective,
Straight to the point,
Literally linear.
All my actions and misadventures,
Hurtling towards this spot in the midground,
RReady to swallow me whole.
May be bird’s eye,
May be worm’s.
Depending on your view point it might be twisted.
The heartbreak and the heart break,
The whispers of the lover,
Sucked away into tiny whorls on a conch shell.
Making a pit stop to refuel,
A moral Shell station.
I can’t go back,
Cant reset,
Or spawn anyway.
Cos when I die it’s game over,
No extra lives tucked away.
Vanishing point,
That spot on the horizon where all lines converge.
Its a simple matter of perspective,
Straight to the point,
Literally linear.
Hold on tight,
As the line grows taut,
Hurtling towards the quantum fabric of reality.
Dropping messages from the future into the past; interstellar.
All this while the spot awaits for all eternity.
A singularity.

© Sena Frost 2015