Old. Home. Dry. (Poem of mine)

And those old eyes
I still saw them
spreading with
the age in her face
And every time she walked
I saw hurt in her bones.
And I don’t know how many
Nights I cried
Thinking of life
Without her
And loneliness
Clenched
Like a fist of self pity
And my heart beat so fast
When I stopped breathing
I felt relief
Close,
And sweet
As a sheet.
I never saw her drink again
Even when wine flowed like fountains
And parties flooded around her.
I will always write poetry
For you.
I hold your hands
And veins flow,
Like shallow rivers.
I sink like a stone
in the water
Forever seems like tomorrow
In this grasp of sunlight.

The River (poem of mine)

There is a river,
One which flows like the lines
On the palm of our hands,
One which holds
A secret
Quite like yours
And quite
Like mine.

There is a river,
One which casts brightness
On the shade of the trees,
One which holds my body
Like a leaf.

There is a river
That I visit
A place to escape
A place of cold embrace
A place of rain
And birdsong
In a day of quiet
In a day of empty anger,
Of confusion.

There is a river,
A long swirl
Of blue chaos
That puts my mind to sleep.

Desolate (poem of mine)

Stretched across
This silent tundra
Whispers turn to wings
I wait for my oasis
To melt in front of me.
I sunk some time ago
And took shelter
I dreamed in mirage,
To escape the daylight
Making vultures of my bones.
I am picked dry
All angles,
And vacancy.
I watch the sand with envy
It floats,
Lifted,
And I am left behind
Not even a tear to cry
And quench this thirst.

Our heavy sleep (poem of mine)

I miss
The warmth
Of back
To chest
I miss
The interlocking
Soft breathing
And the slow tracing
The downy hair
Reminding my fingertips
Of the arch of your elbow
The slope of your neck
I miss
The cracks of light
A bright right angle
Through the shutters
And the midnight traffic
Silently humming at the edge of the city
Like ants
Their lights flickered behind my eyelids
I miss
The parts of you
The ones that tell me
I am cold at night.
Fingertips trace
The blue sheets.
I imagine arms,
Strands of your hair,
Our heavy sleep.

Not guilty (poem of mine)

You sent me a text
About sex
And I was hoping I would get some
Declaration of love
About unrequited passion
A definition
To quell my constant aching
No
You were just acting
And I cant complain because
I wanted something
Rather than nothing.
I guess I am feeling something,
But whether it’s love
Or hate
I don’t know
It seemed to me that
We walked that line
between the two.
I lie and say to the ceiling
1 o clock – I’m not sorry.
2 o clock – I’m not sorry.
I’m not sorry.

Talking to you on a Sunday morning (poem of mine)

Understand
That I sway
Red and raw
When you talk to me
And inside fire burns
To smoke
And I hear the whistle
Of its embers.
I am distracted,
But,
I try to hold your gaze,
Try to untangle
This vineyard of escape
In my brain,
I drift
to lift a branch
And see eyes,
Heavy behind the purple of the grapes.
I drink the wine of your skin
And lay still
I turn my head away
Then back to you
We talk
Like old friends.
Air buzzes
Electric
As a hive
Weighed down with honey.

Darkness to chokehold (poem of mine)

By the light of my cigarette
An impermeable night
Closes to chokehold.
Brick by brick
Stacked in symmetrical folds
Blade by green blade
Grass, bitten with cold.

Breathe in,
Breathe out.
Eyes of 2 burnt coals,
And a feathery tremor
Climbs like a trellis
In the cold winds groan.

Brick by brick,
The gravelly tones
Of a night
Turned darkness
To chokehold.

A garden of remembrance (poem of mine)

A garden in the darkness,

And the night insects

Skulk in the grass,

The whitest meadow,

Moon drenched

Crystalline.

And I

Shadowed in the crevice,

I do not know this place.

Time brews

An empty ticking

Sensation

And the quiet spider

Trembles in its web

I feel

This tremor,

A cascade

Through my marrow

And beneath

An upwards surge.

Eyes go amiss.

Then again

Another darkness

Pours over me

I pray to feel it resting

I know when it recedes,

It only sleeps at my feet.

Red Admiral (poem of mine)

Saturday
On the decking
A mug
And a table
And a chair
And trousers
Soaked in last night’s rain;
I thought of butterflies.
Ever since you said
That Uncle Freddie
Told her he was coming back as one,
We know it as a sign,
Was this, one of those
That you laced into my thoughts?
Or was it just the rain
And a promise of sun,
A shift of nature,
Unconnected.
But those brazen wings
In that punch to the face red,
I had to take a pause,
Within my pause,
And notice your colour,
Amongst the fading greens.
I know when a day is dark,
And it is significant,
You will come along.
I don’t know who you are,
But here’s hoping,
You know me.
I say hello, silently,
Smile
Into my coffee.

In shrieking darkness (poem of mine)

I lie awake
And breathe dark
Hope
That thoughts
Will soften with the light.
I try to pin down
This ferocious struggle
Restrain
It’s piercing scream,
Contain
A wailing midnight symphony.
I converse with myself
And every word
Is spit on my flames.
I cannot lie here
And burn in the blackness
In my mind I pace
The long corridors
And I shriek
Till the echoes
Rattle the walls.
And I sit,
Till my shadow
Singes the floor,
And clocks melt to liquid pools at my feet
And boredom dies
From restlessness.
The room is silent
And I am silent
Bandaged
In shrieking blackness.