Stars Glisten Upon The Waters Blackened Surface,
As Cold Currents Tango With Leaping Comets,
Waves Quietly Lap Against A Ragged Shoreline,
While A Fire Dances Upon The Damp Sands,
And A Sturdy Song Weaves Through The Forest,
A Deep Bass Embeds Itself Into A Beating Heart,
And Shoots Up Towards The Billions Of Stars,
The Same Stars Which Rooted Themselves Into,
The Desperate Eyes Of Millions Before

some rather dark nights
seems the moon's on vacation . . .

1.
Look, here comes courage
Dragging the moon in its teeth
While stars dapple in its tangled fleece
Go on, you!
Go and put the moon back up in the sky
Where it belongs

2.
Tenebrous nite falls on square
Yet a caged moon shines courageous slivers
Most haunting melodies
Then that dark figure appears
Trying to steal it away

With black birds flapping round him
Like a sombre halo over him
He slinks off into the welcoming shadows.

3.
Girl with long blonde plaits
sits on water-lily petal-pads
In the middle of a mild mere
Mauve moon lies tame in her still palms
But the wrong notes suddenly play out
Harmony not quite jacked up

4.
Elemental whirlpool explodes
As sceptred figures hunch in red dust
A flash of green sky
white elephants drown in shallow puddles
angels sit on the edge of blue teacups
while thoughts crisscross

and moon hops away
galaxial order pleased


put the moon back
where it belongs

let it hang there . . .
in the sky*




S T, 20 July 2013

i was a young girl,
the age of fourteen,
when my friends were paperback novels.

when the kids used to laugh at me in my face.

i wanted to disappear from the terrible world i was born into.

i found refuge in the yellowed pages,
where the story was not my own,
where their troubles related to mine.
these characters were my only friends.
they held my hand when i cried.
when i was made fun of for being so **** antisocial.

the endings made me so sad.
it was an internal death of an unknown,
unacknowledged soul.

i was the child who read on the bus,
who stayed up too late to read the last of the old pages.

they inspired me to be free.
to live life the best i could.
they gave me hope for a happy ending.

at the age of fifteen,
i scarred my skin.
i'd forgotten the happy endings i used to read about.

i felt like a character in a book when i wilted inside.
when i took the painkillers,
hoping for an overdose.
it was an internal death of an unknown,
unacknowledged soul.

i woke up at the first hour of the day,
unsuccessful,
but successful.

i scribbled on the blank pages of books,
i wrote my soul on the pages and it poured out on the floor like an acidic pool of experiences.

i was a damaged soul,
but daisies grew from the cracks of my heart,
and a new life was born inside an old one.

Before bed I poured my joy into a jar on the stand,
and when it was full
flecks of light glided around our bodies.
Her ears sang a lo-fi lullaby
as her eyelids caught each fleeting note.
When you look away from me
what are you trying to hide?
Our wild skin cooled on cotton
as our minds dipped
into fragments of what pains us.
Get close to me.
During the moment I was sad because
I imagined myself as an old man
forgetting most of it.
We didn’t invent a new thing,
just a simple thing so simple it was beautiful.
And when you finally spoke
only the sensation of touch was left of me.

Roadways have flayed greyed arteries
Into the greenaries of the land.
A kingdom of metallic cities,
An empire built upon shifting sands.

And bombs stain the badlands
In dusty countries far ashore.
It is a time for distractive actions
And a constant state of war.

But what a dull reality!
To focus on the undulations,
The consequences of being free,
The purge of the weaker nations.

For life can be easy
If you live through glossy pages.
The life and lies of a celebrity;
The superficial ages.

A sorry state for families
Who talk only about the weather
And other temporal pleasantries,
On their proud suites made of leather.

Oh, what a poor affair!
Caring more for the clouds above,
Than the climates of our world-weary hearts,
and for all the ones we love.

And lo, we're careless and carefree
for all that does not appear on screen.
They'd gush over some royal baby,
But not pine over the unseen.

Our modern sicknesses
Are conjured and conceited too.
For what value is there in compassion,
If oneself is feeling blue?

Does charity begin at home?
You once said it does nothing at all.
But is home solely what you own,
In a world so close and so small?

These questions are silent,
But they are asked in the thousands.
By all those that are used to deaf ears,
Across all oceans and lands.

To the soft-hearted I call thee,
To not be so stilled and so dampened.
By the weight of the majority,
the crowds of the minds unopened.

And to myself I hope,
That we shall meet dear reader.
Above your recitation of my words,
To something more real,
To something much clearer.

how easily we forget
the night we lay in the wet grass, clinging to each other for warmth
  the day on the river, sun fooling our eyes
   singing together like stupid fools
    your warm arms enveloping your entire world
   sitting in front of a computer screen, afraid of the dark, wishing for something that didn't exist
  the phone calls that always said the same thing, nothing.
the jealousy and the lies, the confusion
the day you said you didn't love me- through a cold screen
how i lay alone
how i hated myself

it's funny, how easy we forget.