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
Like a fist of self pity
And my heart beat so fast
When I stopped breathing
I felt relief
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.


Mummy issues. (Poem of mine)

You unquiet the silence in my head
But I say nothing
I try to seek solace
In others
Their rigid replies
Of little help
To my aches
And pains.
It was never just a teenage angst
Though I fought
Though I was tempestuous
Un-observant of the etiquette
You forced upon me,
In pinks and frills
And politeness,
I always wanted to fight back.
Now it is a constant expectation
That I live up to your
I am sorry but
I’d rather not.
Paint the ceiling,
Mop the floor,
I feel as if,
I am repeating the old cliché
Of a slave driver,
herding their cattle.
Perhaps it is
Amateur dramatics,
I do not want to live with you,
Love is best lived,
From a distance.

You pushed me (poem of mine)

You pushed me,
And I felt a warmth
Rush through me
As the heel of your palm
In the curve of my back.
And we forgot all the stars,
Or should I say
I forgave every piece of light
I saw rushing towards me
In that dark fall.
And my final thought,
It felt like love
Love is murder.

I saw my body,
frail as a feather,
Starched in the dusk
Of the pale street light…
Your skin.

I looked up,
Stars obscured.
I saw your face,
In a haze of rain,
In a fall as light as
A last breath,
Angels Wings,
Breeze on my back,
At my fingertips.

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,
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
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.