Gossamer binds my heart to my head
To my stomach, encroaching on my limbs
And you gurgle in my throat, threatening
All day long.
Mummy! Mummy! Not only will I never yell it,
I’ll never hear it yelled.
I feel like He ripped from my hand
Every facet of my dreamy Sundays
My recurring dream has Caesar’d me
And laughed.
Then I remember it’s not like that
I weep for snowy Christmases, sporting prowess:
For what I never had.
That’s possibly the worst part;
I brought this upon myself,
Plotted my own downfall since I was five
Since I dived head first into my
Doll’s house.
Feb 28, 2013
Feb 28, 2013 at 12:22 AM UTC
My to-do lists are to tasks,
What my poems are to thoughts;
They give them justice, ease my head.
Make sure I don't forget;
A post-it for my mind.
Feb 23, 2013
Feb 23, 2013 at 5:17 AM UTC
The glimmer in his hair, those kaleidoscope eyes,
Isn’t he lovely?
With lustre and humid afternoons
We jumped on plastic sheeting
Till our cyclist’s thighs and drummer’s fringe
Ached for the next day’s meeting.
Yen for one such as you,
Sidled up in the overtaking lane.
A flashing red passed me by, mouthing
‘Mother and child reunion is just a song.’
And with that I wished for you,
Non-existent, imaginary you.
But for now, marmalade sticks together
A household of three companions
As we wait for our January highs
And commiserate November rains.
I’m the one of them who wishes
That she could sing Wonder’s song aloud
To you. Imaginary, non-existent you.
Feb 23, 2013
Feb 23, 2013 at 4:57 AM UTC
Chair scrapes lino
Dark eyes gaze
Over every facet
Of smokey haze
Spearing the duck
Pursing your lips
Yell in your head
Your voice unzips
A fraudulent noise
A family poised
Dinner.
Feb 9, 2013
Feb 9, 2013 at 1:30 AM UTC
There was a pause.
Not uncomfortable, never uncomfortable, but not unnoticed.
'Why do you tell me? We're stuck here.
It's the end and yet you dwell on what has passed.
Surely there's more that matters.'
She trailed off, unsure of where she was going.
'Ahh, but there is nothing that matters more at the end than what has passed.'
He let that comment sit in the sticky air.
'Take us, for instance.'
He continued.
She kicked rocks up onto her foot and into the sea.
'Would we ever talk like this should we have known each other at home?
This candidly? No.
There are no cameras out here.
Not that we'd be worried about doing something wrong.
This isn't wrong.
But worried about what people would think. What they'd say.
We wouldn't voice these concerns to each other, but they'd be there.
Complete comfort, complete ease.
But it would be tainted by the sins of those who have gone before.
The minds of those who search for judgement.'
He had a habit of going off into unintelligible speech at the end.
Breath seemed to evade him for a moment, then release.
She usually had some quick reply. Funny to only them;
But she just stood there. Without speaking.
When you stop speaking, the sounds around you seem to amplify.
Suddenly the rustle of the leaves nearby,
The twiddle of the birds,
The rush of white water meeting sand,
The distant commotion of the rest of the group setting up a fire.
Dec 8, 2012
Dec 8, 2012 at 1:49 AM UTC
There are two trees;
One standing tall and pure
And one below, shaking in the river
With paler colour, and crooked edge.
We have ourselves
And the selves we reflect to the world.
The truest terror is leaning forward
And diving in.
Dec 3, 2012
Dec 3, 2012 at 9:59 PM UTC
To behold a horizon
With but a microscope
Would be to inhale Your world
With but a lifetime.
Dec 3, 2012
Dec 3, 2012 at 9:54 PM UTC
Your stone is tied heavy
To pull me down to Earth.
But loosed to rise and
Let me gasp at Heaven.
Jun 22, 2012
Jun 22, 2012 at 9:00 AM UTC
Plato was never so right
Than when he spoke of love
Like this.
Your touch; in only an arm on the shoulder
Your words; the whispers of someone much older
Your goodbye; words of care ‘til tomorrow
Your time; seconds of mysteries I'll borrow
I’m thankful, as I wouldn’t have chosen me
For platonic love such as this.
Jun 22, 2012
Jun 22, 2012 at 8:56 AM UTC
Tipping out the innards of your drawers,
Any sign of liquid that would pour as glue.
And piece together your dismembered dream,
In which fantasy and reality pas de deux.
Jun 22, 2012
Jun 22, 2012 at 8:37 AM UTC