red lips open up
endless possibilities
eyes shuttered and dark
silent screaming goes unheard
where pain and joy look the same
the big O
Tag: poetry
September’s end
A breeze blows still, cooler and sharper than summer’s soft sigh, an edged whisper stealing beneath my ill-advised layers of silk. I should wear a sweater, perhaps. It’s almost time, but I cling to the dying summer as a drowning man cradles the last hopeful flotsam to his chest. It’s not enough, in the end. But it will do for now.
Vibrant spring greens gave way to lively grass greens. Varied hues fade in sunlight that promises much from behind a window, but delivers less than wanted in reality. Here and there, wine red blushes leaves while others flicker orange and yellow, a final bonfire of colour to warm the season’s end. The green of life retreats to its source. We know the dark is coming.
Not today though. Today energetic clouds bustle in cool blue. Scarlet fruits bob and sway. Nature keeps her promises in generous bounty. And in the imperceptibly shrinking day another voice hides. Now you see me, then you won’t. But the world turns, and brings another, harsher time. Gather in while you may.
lessons learned
In go the children
sit bright-eyed at teacher’s feet
their pages still blank.
Let’s school these enquiring minds
into dull obedience.
dig deep
my fingers bleed red
deeper and deeper I dig
for precious gold; yet
none appears. soon darkness veils
my eyes, stealing every word
individu[al(one)]
He is at work. Wednesday comes.
Hey, we’re off to the pub. Coming?
Sure. Why not.
Football scores. Office politics. The girl in the corner wearing blue.
Nothing to say. Sips a beer. No response to desperate glances.
Must be getting home or there’ll be hell to pay, right?
Right.
He is at work. Friday comes.
TGIF, am I right?
Right.
She’s got my weekend booked up, shopping and a BBQ, groan. You?
Nothing much.
I wish.
Three beers and Netflix. Pizza delivery. Quiet bed.
He is at work. Monday comes.
So busy this weekend, didn’t have a minute to myself. How about you?
Oh, you know. Quiet.
You’re lucky, time to yourself.
Yes. Lucky me.
Friday can’t come quick enough, am I right?
Right.
He is quiet. No trouble. No drama.
No sun. Engulfed by eternal cloud, muffled, numb.
Rain drips icy fingers down his neck, freezing his bones.
Invisible, lost, a lone wolf.
Teeth ripping at his own heart.
A final scream, choked. Unheard.
None to sing his elegy.
alchemy
listen:
celebrate the blooms
turning pure faces skyward
such dazzling beauty
has roots sunk deep in darkness
decay transformed into life
Echoes
Those who cannot remember the past are condemned to repeat it.
George Santayana
listen:
The lessons of the past are clear to see
on pages dripping with blood shed in vain
and still we can’t escape our history.
When no-one questions how we come to be
repeating ancient wrongs, one truth remains;
the lessons of the past are clear to see.
A genocide becomes legal decree
some disbelieve an innocent’s refrain
and still we can’t escape our history.
When facts are fake, debased commodity
and Orwell’s warnings are chillingly plain
the lessons of the past are clear to see.
Complicit, distant, blind to misery
we turn away and shrug, not this again
and still we can’t escape our history.
It’s too easy to say it wasn’t me;
I’m not responsible for all this pain.
The lessons of the past are clear to see
yet still we can’t escape our history.
bikini body
she rises from the
water, this modern day Venus
of plastic beauty
Tell me a story
listen:
Tell me a story. Give me tales of a thousand nights, warm scented breeze on my skin, sand in my shoes. Take me to the farthest pole, blue-green fire dancing in the sky, breath clouding in crisp night air.
Tell me a story. Let me taste salt sea tang while sun beats down on wooden decks. Show me dolphins, flying fish, whales breaching white-topped waves. Let me glimpse bright eyed merpeople watching deep under the surface, waiting.
Tell me a story. Carry me on red and silver rockets to vast silent space stations where the stars never go out. Show me galaxies born from cosmic dust. Bring whispers from strange aliens and stranger, once-human creatures.
Tell me a story. Lead me up the mountain, rocks skittering away under exhausted feet, lungs screaming for oxygen. Describe that joyful promised land seen only from the summit, take me there on wings of faith.
Expand my horizons. Play my emotions. Cloak mindless chatter, soothe unthinking wounds, only with words. Let me shed this skin, be someone else, somewhere else, sometime else. Give me distance, just for a while. Let me lose and maybe find myself.
Tell me a story.
Terminus
listen:
Here, by your side
forgotten tears were cried.
Fingertips touch, and part
do you feel my beating heart?
Emotions surge
as paths diverge.