I can recall every curve
of every body I have lived in
every wave of emotion
the high and low tides
conjured by my eyes
and I wonder about the days
wasted in front of mirrors
the hours given to a voice
that was never mine to begin with
I am so deep
that if you were to fall into me
you would fall for hours
through the night sky
one littered with dead light
from stars long past
and when you finally land
you will find mountains of tinsel
and me of many ages
smelling it so furiously
my nose begins to bleed
Loving her is hard to do
when the lines aren’t straight
and there are scars on her face
Loving her is a difficult task
when they say she’s beautiful
and all you see is the mask
Loving her is like a rocky river
a current of icy bends
one touch and she quivers
The vain outpouring of grief
speaks to me in silhouette songs
Outlines fully formed
an empty shadow hides
Show me the colours
of a loved one lost
and I will paint you a picture
of loved ones found
I have scars that only strawberries can fix
Big, fat, juicy ones that I picked myself
when your scent hits my nose
For it knows the cuts I bare
and promises to be gentle
Don’t follow me into the garden
This one I planted for myself
You said it and it stayed
and there it did remain
playing out for always
like a movie marathon
And all I wanted was to read you, a poem of forgiveness
Perhaps this is the poem you were always meant to hear
I forgive you
you did not know
how the weeds would grow
and suffocate the flowers
that wanted to bloom
And when they piled on the dirt
and that putrid smell rose
it filled my nostrils and escaped my eyes
till all i could see was the disgust outside
I think it was meant to be this way
I’ve made friends with the weeds
and forgotten about the flowers
there are trees
that line blue rivers
which house secrets inside
Swim with me now
and I know I will not drown
You have kept me afloat
of this I have no doubt
and so once more-
I forgive you because,
despite it all
it is you,
who I adore
Golden fences and red pavements
mahogany tables with steel legs
a collated mess of materials
born from mother nature
nurtured by the modern man
and yet nothing is made for me
Never again will I be beaten, by the drums of my own melancholy.
I will whistle while I walk,
For the day has too much wonderful mystery, hidden within its circular walls.
And if the day should bite and disappoint me,
tomorrow will always have a different door.
Do not break these tectonic plates beneath my feet,
they were meant for me.
I think that I was born this way,
to always sway
and never truly stand.
Like a soldier
I see the 60 sign and yet I go 40
I drag behind the bus and follow it,
wherever it may go.
I said it
Not Hungry Jacks
because I see you now on the corner
and the sting of swelling spit in my open mouth says “feed me”
I turn the corner going 40
The grocery line of cars angrily honk all the way to the horizon
I don’t know what they expected from a Tuesday afternoon
I think they’d be happy with my always 40
Why do we honk at standing still?
Why do we curse the calm before the storm?
What makes the reckoning so appealing?
Does it really take a rubble to bring the Dawn?
I think I’ll stay at 40
and eat a bloody burger while I’m at it
and I will smile, a big juicy smile
and watch as they go 100 in a 60 zone.
Olive green majestic,
flower on an ancient frame.
Carved from red wood,
a dying forest,
swallowed by lava that once was leaves.
Leave me here to die a red death
and I will thank you three times.
Once for the olive green photo frame that houses a black and white memory-
Once for the paint you harvested and drained from my black and white veins-
And lastly I will thank you,
for throwing the picture away.