stop up ahead so we can catch our breath –
you can see it, billowing up
into an upturned sieve;
bright, cold dripping in, separating
from heavy purple mass.
how many damp backs have we endured?
aching to catch a glimpse of that beyond,
sprawled at the foot of the infinite,
gulping down lungful after lungful of sharp forever-ness.
is it just me or do they get further away?
you remember reaching right up
and tracing the inside of the rim
with your hands?
pin-pricks dropped so quietly
onto your face,
lodging under your pores.
i used to think i could hear them,
what sound did they make,
when you could hear them?
have you ever listened to glass on water,
or ice cubes in the dark,
or the space between old friends (no longer speaking),
or a billion lighthouse keepers closing their eyes,
or concrete pipes in the summer,
or God’s name (YHWH),
or that night the dunes caved in and i saw milk in heaven,
or the gap in the second hand,
or Sigur Rós’s fourth studio album (the one where God speaks)?
that’s what they sounded like,
but i don’t believe you can hear them anymore.
Jan 2, 2021
Jan 2, 2021 at 10:54 PM UTC
my tongue crawls back to the gap
where my tooth fell out;
passing by the rigid brace
permanently fixed to the back
of my incisors.
tracing stuffed bedrows
stained by Lagans of tea,
skipping the entrance,
afraid of the sea
change that takes place -
when you linger too long,
or the sharp, shooting pain
when probing goes wrong.
i avoided the dentist
(with her microscope stare)
and chose to dress it
with other (important) affairs.
Oct 9, 2020
Oct 9, 2020 at 8:37 PM UTC
am I the monster?
pitiful, broken boy. vile creature. twisted soul.
it all feels a bit trite now. I used to fill pages upon pages with that. a ceaseless wave of self-loathing. I wanted to do that tonight. I wanted to hurt myself. I wanted to tear myself to pieces. just like the old days: endless tirades into whatever abyss presented itself. notes and poems, blogs and songs.
I even carved it into my skin.
"MONSTER" "PERVERT" "FREAK" "EVIL"
if you look closely you can still see the faint outlines of names I gave myself from my hips to my thighs.
but scars fade.
wounds heal.
tablets work (and stop working), counsellors work (and stops working), friends leave (and stop leaving),
nothing stands still. that once constant hum fades into the distance.
a new song takes its place.
just look at all the hope left in its wake...
all the friendships maintained. all the relationships built. all the late night calls and car rides to the beach. all the conversations and arguments. all the half-baked ideas and plans to change the world. all the cups of tea and petrol station tray bakes. all the last minute events. all the bickering and creating. all the faces glowing. all the plane, train, bus, and bike journeys. all the phone calls answered. all the wounds bandaged. all the ambulance trips and hospital visits. all the falling outs and friend drama. all the heartbreak and bellyache. all the pain and confusion. all the *** and prayer. all the tears and laughter. all the board games and secret shames. all the friends lost and friends gained.
there are lives worth living, and people worth loving.
my life did not end at 16, when I committed a crime and shattered the world.
no matter how hard I tried, no matter how much I bled, I could not change what I had done.
but it is done.
all of it.
and many, many years later, I think I can finally begin close a chapter of my life.
after all, hope grows in the cracks.
Jul 23, 2020
Jul 23, 2020 at 12:25 AM UTC
let me pursue kindness if it kills me.
let my actions speak louder.
let my reflection be true and my apologies timely.
let anger flee and love remain.
let pain subside and healing grow.
and where I have toyed with fire let hope build bridges.
Jul 22, 2020
Jul 22, 2020 at 11:53 PM UTC
i can piece together scraps
and tie up old ribbon
and weave a new story
out of old memories
and new friends
and tales of true emotion
heartache, heartbreak,
when there’s just a little more
at stake
echoes of laughter and music,
deep sea and vast distance
dip and weave
move and shake
from many pieces,
one does a quilt make
May 10, 2020
May 10, 2020 at 10:52 PM UTC
grey carpet, yellow wall,
brown table, yellow wall,
blue seat, yellow wall,
and a **** coloured stain on the ceiling.
_______________________
shoulders pressed inward,
hands between thighs,
hair hanging in front of
detestable grey eyes.
but details matter,
red hands must smear
a crude-drawn picture,
on strips of brown-clear.
blinding and white
burning the table,
ten pages in all,
a statement from Abel.
attempt to explain,
better yet confess,
inky black clips,
secret, sudden cess.
bottle green, cautioning;
two lives lost
to action unseen.
golden is youth,
yet blue is the feeling,
all colour gone, body reeling.
Apr 11, 2020
Apr 11, 2020 at 5:46 PM UTC
when I was growing up,
our hallway had the most peculiar floor:
not quite carpet,
not quite planks,
but something in between.
like a wicker basket
stretched out over several metres,
or the rope you find
dangling off a dinghy's mooring,
it scratched and screened
at the soles of your feet,
tickling and tormenting
bare toes or
pulling the threads out of
well-meaning pairs of socks.
I hated it, or at least,
I thought I did —
until the day it was replaced by
laminate panels.
fake wood didn't cut it,
neither would expensive pile,
or any scraggly synthetic offering
to do the trick.
our painful, hessian homecoming
was a path to beds, and tables,
and welcoming arms.
it marked a definite departure
from sensible carpets and
suitable floors,
to the place between comforts.
for who would dally in a hallway that hurt?
or who would pause to feel the prickling,
pinching of strange interior decor?
of course, sense prevailed —
wood would come,
wood would stay,
and our peculiar, prickly past,
would become a story for some other day.
Apr 4, 2020
Apr 4, 2020 at 10:03 PM UTC
wind whips around the eaves,
whistling by the Velux,
rattling the back gate.
which consequences do I own,
whose hands are inside mine,
what veins belong to me,
and where do they lead?
what if the walls don't hold tonight?
what if they crumble and break?
and I get ****** out -
the contents of my room
shooting through the sky,
burrowing deep into my skin,
piercing the clear, cold night?
___________________________
It's settling down now,
but you always knew it would.
These things pass, and tomorrow,
you'll collect the detritus scattered on the road.
You sink deep into the pile
of old blankets
and duvet
and wisps of remembrance
You're safe here
at least until tomorrow,
at least until tomorrow,
at least until tomorrow,
Feb 2, 2020
Feb 2, 2020 at 9:10 PM UTC
sweet blossoming joy,
friends who stick around,
friends who have only just begun.
ah life flows
from rocks broken in two ,
water pouring out
of stone,
drenching all around,
with sweet blossoming joy
Dec 20, 2019
Dec 20, 2019 at 11:05 PM UTC