The same outcome time and time again
What happened next was yet to be the trademark of these nights
It was all going swimmingly
No tears, the fears all washed away
No fresh broken veins rising to the surface of my mother's face
No stutters in the risk of turning happy times to grave
All was fabulous, darling
Then the taxi driver came
Prompt, on time, pulled up to the line
Got out the car, held our door, greeted us
We hopped in and he softened the sounds of his zithers and drums and CRASSSHHHH
like that..
Father Jack was back
The Tasmanian whirlwind of Dad
His vomiting of ignorant bile
The tarnished look of shame
The spit escaping his furious tongue
Our blushed red cheeks and the look of fear in the rear view mirror
The want to float, erase, rewind the time to drumsticks and toothpicks digging out smart price nuts from our teeth
To fly to a time when Dad was 5 and be there
Not just fob him off to nearest kids home
'John, she's pregnant again, fetch your clothes'
... and nurture him, tell him he was loved and teach him right from wrong
Those rear view eyes, counting down the time
We cleaned up the aftermath, disinfected the air with our apologies and curtseyed away whilst he licked his wounds
Next gig pencilled in, St Patrick's Day.
Feb 23, 2019
Feb 23, 2019 at 1:36 PM UTC
Feeling of euphoria dominating that room
That exasperating space of leftover domestics, lust verging on predatory
Unwashed, unclipped, orange tinged fingertips scooping up the dregs of Asda's smart price nuts
I was in my element, masking my child in me
My hormonal fireworks had gone into this moment.
I had made it.
I was 14 and a pub singer.
My family beamed, my Dad unrecognisable
The room roared, happy feet stomped and energetic hands clapped; erupting into our very own earthquake
I took a sneaky mouthful of my concealed pint, covering my modesty in my must look 18 dress
The rockers rocked
The lovers kissed
Eighties fans shook their hips
My father missed... it
The smoke was as thick as **** the *****
It danced in a flurried daze with our quickened breath, singing 'Tubthumping'
If I could have bottled that, I would take a sniff of that smelling salt to bring me round any day
Feb 23, 2019
Feb 23, 2019 at 1:24 PM UTC
As I stared at the knife in my mind
I banished that imagery from all consciousness
Until now
Feb 21, 2019
Feb 21, 2019 at 6:52 PM UTC
They say poets have imaginative super powers
I'd describe it as having super courage, to reopen our scars,
peeling back layer upon layer of carefully constructed skin,
woven with purpose to suppress our forbidden haunts,
into the hollows squashed between dissected organs and fractured bones.
Poetry, my soul bearer, life alterer, my reflection and my most favourite of gifts.
Feb 17, 2019
Feb 17, 2019 at 5:20 AM UTC
I've lost my compassion
I was adamant I packed it in my bag this morning
I can't seem to find it anywhere...
Feb 14, 2019
Feb 14, 2019 at 1:30 PM UTC
I have been gifted in understanding you can unlearn your 'truth'
Feb 10, 2019
Feb 10, 2019 at 4:38 AM UTC
We curtseyed away and disinfected the air with our apologies
My Dad seethed;
opportunities lost of relieving the torment
It took hours
But we patched him back together
The only way we knew how..
With caution, and warmth shielding him.. bringing him home
Feb 9, 2019
Feb 9, 2019 at 3:35 AM UTC
Rooted to the spot
As they take their *** shots
All none of them
Just the barrage of abuse from within
Feb 9, 2019
Feb 9, 2019 at 3:16 AM UTC
Do you remember that time we belly laughed about letting work consume our lives?
No? Neither do I.
Feb 8, 2019
Feb 8, 2019 at 12:18 PM UTC
I forgot to arrange an appointment with my doctor about being so forgetfu....
Feb 4, 2019
Feb 4, 2019 at 2:28 PM UTC