You may free yourself from self-righteousness
and even escape the conical wasteland
of numerous embittered moments
but you will never evade the sense that
all the while someone is plotting their next move.
Dec 21, 2019
Dec 21, 2019 at 4:55 PM UTC
She hums in quiet desolation,
wishing that I would stay.
Or maybe she thinks
the song is really catchy,
in which case
I’m the pathetic one.
Dec 21, 2019
Dec 21, 2019 at 4:46 PM UTC
first makes me
imagine a poem
that talks about
an ink-stained sky
and brooding clouds
and chilling air,
all of which
can be taken as
ominous signs of
impending doom;
but that can be bad
so instead lie still
and listen to the
comforting melody
the rainstorm plays on
my old tin roof
Sep 13, 2019
Sep 13, 2019 at 6:38 PM UTC
we sit in the yard
and look at
the quiet sky
while the flowers
release their scent
you say you love
the overhead clouds
but you don’t love me
so I think of
a thousand kisses
and all those moments
I now find hard
to understand
there will be other skies
Aug 24, 2019
Aug 24, 2019 at 4:47 PM UTC
They met up.
She said: we’re done.
He pleaded.
She rolled her eyes.
He cried.
She laughed.
He sniffed.
She blew smoke into the air.
He coughed.
She walked away.
Aug 22, 2019
Aug 22, 2019 at 7:33 PM UTC
What would happen if the moon leaked?
Would there be a luminous canal
that flowed with moon milk?
Would we be able to bathe in
a shimmering pool of silver?
Aug 16, 2019
Aug 16, 2019 at 10:28 AM UTC
The failed kiss left a trail of lip gloss
across a canvas of unending emptiness
like a memory dragged from between the
pages of a second-rate novel.
Her cries were a tune that knocked at the door
but failed to pierce his tone-deafness.
He watched on but then sensed guilt
that he alone could have caused such a thing.
Jul 19, 2019
Jul 19, 2019 at 5:27 AM UTC
You call it impartiality,
but is it the calculated coldness inside you
that creates that sense of misplaced fairness
which means you treat everyone in the same
negative way regardless of their circumstances?
I call it duplicity.
Jul 13, 2019
Jul 13, 2019 at 1:36 PM UTC
In the skip
lies a rusty bike in faded red
a carpet stained and a broken bed
- in the skip
some rotten wood from a leaking roof
all of which is evident proof
of the transience of things
Jul 6, 2019
Jul 6, 2019 at 6:42 PM UTC
No moon in a milk-flavoured sky
just a feather suspended in a summer current
leaving just enough room for breathless uncertainty.
A long-play memory in a looped feedback.
Waves arrive in an endless repetition
from an ocean full of oversized drops
as eyes open to see nothing but shades of blue.
Jul 4, 2019
Jul 4, 2019 at 4:56 AM UTC