:-)      We are the abbreviated people
Living our lives in short, loud bursts
On screens and through machines
Words are changed, made little, rearranged.
We are emoticons
Wearing a dead smile
Pretending to be happy
But *** and ***
We've lost so much.
Write with me
On walls and boards
And scented, silky paper.
Find your language, your voice
We'll rediscover what we were,
Articulate and complicated, full of words
If we write, we'll speak and feel
Indescribable, beautiful things
Unashamedly unabbreviated
More than a   :-(

A poem is a living thing,
Born of love or hate, joy, or despair.
When it is received, and loved by a reader,
It reaches it's full potential,
Matures, becomes layered and complex, almost sentient.
Has relationships, prompts reactions, stirs emotions,
And such a poem, being lost, must be mourned, will be grieved.
Indulge me in my sadness, for these treasured words
Conceived and birthed with such joy that they overflowed the page
and ecstatically overwhelmed me.
I know, they were just words, I know...
But this grief is familiar. It reminds. It rewinds.
And I am back in a place I do not care to revisit,
Waiting to be haunted, by "it wasn't meant to be".

Sometimes, you must take action
In order to avert a calcification of the inner self,
A slow and sad decline.
My brittle heart was dessicated,
A cuttlefish, broken and alone,
Upon a windswept shingle beach.
Now, it pulses, it throbs,
The bass beat background to my life,
An eternal dance of joy.
Sometimes, life will gift you a great friend, a kindred soul,
Sometimes, you find someone
To revive you, make you whole.

There is a dead fly
On my windowsill,
He's been there for some time.
I refuse to move him.
I refuse to let others
clean him away.
He died, you see, on a day significant to me.
I doubt he chose that spot to die,
And even if he did, 'twas not for my benefit.
Nevertheless, he has something to teach me,
About moments, and moving on,
And striking a balance between good housekeeping,
and philosophical thought.

Yesterday was the second worst day of my life.

Calmer now, we assess
the damage and formulate a plan
for recovery.

Love has re-emerged
From the anger and the chaos.
It sat there at the heart of the maelstrom,
Refusing to be ignored.
After months of neglect
It made itself known,
And will save us.

All the apologies in the world, would mean nothing without it.

We have lost, what we needed to lose.
They are gone.
And now, we carry on,
Rebuilding, redefining, and loving.
Loving; yes, we always did
But didn't always know.

Your gentlest kisses
Are like thunder and lightning
A storm in my soul.

I have a gift for you, it is my heart.
Put it away, safely, think of it often
with affection.
I ask for nothing in return
But your promise to cherish my gift.

I withstand the pain
Because she needs me to bleed.
Brutal, mutual need.

My skin is prickling,
Icy and on fire,
Is this called revulsion,
Or desire?

I'm bruised.
When will I heal?
Best to be numb
Or good to feel?

Tell me, are you aching?
Are you raw?
The thought is making
Me want more.

And in the end,
You cannot give
Me any reason
Still, to live.

I wish I could spare you words like beautiful, babe, figure and thin.
I wish I could guarantee you a complete disregard for the size of your *******
Or the length of your legs.
I pray never to find you hunched over the toilet
Or hiding a sandwich under books in your bag.
What will the equivalent of cyberbullying be, in ten years time?
I will try, so very hard, to keep you safe.

Please, always talk to each other, and to me.
Share your heart’s bleedings
And I will help you staunch the flow.
I will find the courage to share my failings
And the confidence to pass on my successes,
Both were instrumental in my becoming the woman I am,
A woman I hope you will be proud of, and applaud.

It is hard to be a woman, in this world,
Urged, relentlessly to perfection,
Bombarded with it, drowned in it,
But perfection is a myth, and becomes imperfect with attainment,
It is the imperfections that will mesmerise,
Embrace them, love them, let them shine.

How long did it take me to learn these lessons?
Have I learned them, even now?
Sometimes I think I have, then I become overwhelmed
By anxiety and self-doubt.
This will happen to you too,
I cannot hope to save you from it
But I can provide some armour.

Think for yourselves,
Reject the babble and the screens, the illusion of celebrity
Twenty-first century addictions.
Do not become a slave to technology.
I can see how hard that will be,
But it must be done, if you are to remain people,
Retain your humanity.
I will help you; I will hold your hands.

You are tiny now, but I can see the strength within you both,
And I will nurture it, protect it,
Then it will protect you, out there.
I promise I will always be your tigress,
But you will not always be my little cubs
I will have to find a way to sheath my claws,
And let you stalk your own prey,
And evade the predators, just as I have done.

I watch you, playing happily together in the sun,
And wish you peace, and love, and joy.
Such simple things, yet so elusive.
I will not show you this poem.
But I will read it, frequently,
And try to keep my promises.
My heart thuds in my chest, each a double-beat
A constant repetition of your names,
Tattooed onto my soul.

A little wobble
Pleasure's payment, my own, earned,
Juicy little bounce.

Your hands are gentle
As they take me, create me,
Making love, and art.

I definitely prefer anger
to denial.
Anger suits me.
Red, purple, colours that
POW!
The colours of denial are vile;
Grey, black, blue.
It's true,
Denial poetry is lovelier,
But anger poetry is more satisfying to write,
And has more bite.

So, I'm angry,
Livid, actually, feeling used,
Confused,
Deceived,
But also...quite relieved,
The tears, for now, have ground to a halt,
I no longer believe
that it's all my fault.
Here, for once, I'll indulge my ire;
He's a spineless, unfeeling,
manipulative liar.

Reach out and touch me,
I'm real, and I'm warm.
I might be able to save you.
Come snuggle,
Tell me all about
YOU.

I'm fascinated,
And I think you might be, too.
I'm ready to lie next to you
And whisper things,
To curl my toes against yours,
Breathe your breath,
Be intimate,
Sharing,
Together.

Understand this;
It's not your body that I want,
It's intimacy of another kind,
The newness of shared secrets
with a stranger,
Companionship
That can only come from a combination of
Admiration, fascination, empathy,
Sympathy, and
A beginning.

Shall we begin?

Let's just lay together, fully clothed and intertwined,
Whispering secrets far into the night.
I need to breathe in the soft warm smell of you,
Bury my face in your neck,
and chastely adore you, just for tonight.
Ah, let me lay here,
And if you doze, and dream of a franker kind of love,
Then keep it in your sleep, for now
I simply want to hold you,
Please, take me in your arms.

Take me out of time and space
And love me.
Only for a moment
In that other place
Just love me.
Make my heart soar and my hands tremble
Let the tears run down my face,
In that other, lovely place.
Only you can take me there,
You know how, and you know where.

My problem is
I want to hear what everybody thinks
And am easily swayed
By each new point of view.

All it has taken
Is one dissenting voice
And now everything seems different
And what if this view, is the right view?
I want it to be.
I want it to be.

I wish to be secure enough
To come to my own conclusions
To make my own decisions
Not to NEED these perspectives.

I must stop telling people my secrets.
Starting here
Oh.

No.

Dream on, poet sweet,
I will hold your words inside
When we sleep, we'll meet.

He will sing the song I have given him
Softly to another
On my behalf.
Gentle as a lullaby,
Lip quivering, but never a tremor
In those haunting, heartsick notes.
He will sing as if to stop would cause his heart to break,
His wrath to wake.
He will sing for me
Eternally.

Have you ever seen someone crumple?
I have,
And I was one half of the cause.
She’d taken a bullet
But didn’t yet know it.
She wasn’t angry
As she looked from me to him and back again
Waiting for one of us to explain
What couldn’t be explained.
She wasn’t angry, she was imploding
Chipped glass about to shatter
Fragmenting shards.
Atoms swirled in chaos,
She stood alone, in a tornado
Still and silent
Not realising the oxygen had all but gone.
Time stood still for us all
And as she realised,
She started to crumple and turned and fled
Too proud to disintegrate
In front of those who fired the gun.

Slide up, unclip, pull
Discard, repeat, now the belt,
I am almost bare.

You are almost there
Just one thing to go, is it
too much? No - guess not....

I am judged to be
Average/Poor
And though I know
It not to be so,
It still pierces like a knife.
I refuse to be a scapegoat;
I am sick of being judged
incorrectly,
And will do my absolute best
to ruin
Mr 'Average/Poor'.
Unfortunately for him
I am not 'Average/Poor'
With language,
And he is about to find out
That I have an above average temper
And a very poor level of tolerance
For unfair, political *******,
And this nightmare of a year.

I am a tiny root
Hiding from Winter, warm within my muddy bed.
I am always a little sad, here in the dark,
Waiting out the colder months,
But I felt the last years passing, a frisson, goodbye.
Spring will begin, a stirring within the earth
Green children born of the Sun
emerge timidly, tightly clumped,
Wound within ourselves.
Slowly I will unfold up
Unleashing colours
Fulfilling a promise made
As I shrivelled last September
To return, a little stronger, just as beautiful
And more mature.

Tonight, she smells of hot dogs.
There are dandelion seeds
Nestled in her curly, swirly hair.
She is snoring, slightly,
Dummy drooping, dribbling, from her lips.
Daddy put her to bed, then she sneaked to her wardrobe
(Contents scattered round the room)
And found some gloves, boots, and a tutu,
Which she's wearing, round her knees.
She looks like a faery from a Shakespeare play,
As if she is planning to be painted;
'Portrait of an eccentric toddler'.
For a moment, I contemplate donning a thermal vest, bikini and bandana,
And joining her, in her oddly dressed dreamworld,
Instead, I leave her in her chosen garb
Tuck her in, descend
To my grown up world.
We still pretend, there,
But there's far less dressing up,
Unfortunately.

We went away, finally, for two nights of us.
I enjoy being with you, immensely.
Sipping a martini in a bar,
Discovering music,
Falling in love
with a new place...
The two of us,
Falling in love
And making it ours.
It has been years since we did this,
And I'm reminded of how we came together,
Why we stay together,
How you still fascinate me
Without the mundane and the mummy
Drowning out the subtleties of us.
How I love to talk to you.
Why don't we talk
When we're at home?
Why aren't we talking
Right now?
I glance across the room, across the miles, across the years.
We're back to you checking emails and surfing servers,
Me writing poetry and searching for....
Something.

Snickering, taunting crushing
Glass spine Pain
Shiver-sweat, an acid rain
Crushing heat, pulsing vein
Sly and furtive, scraping pain
Mainline pills, a codeine drain
Senses fuzzy, can’t explain
Pain is all
The pain, the pain.

Please
Teach me
Tantalising tricks
Please
Show me
Devilish delights
Please
Lend me
Some of your allure
Please
Give me
Something of your
*self

My mixed are words up
Rollercoaster party
Tracing paper vision
Deja vu songs.
I know I had a heartfelt conversation
But I can't remember who
And I can't remember what.
Not wise
Not wise
Stop speaking
All lies.
Bathroom banging on the door
Better get up off the floor
Paranoia hours away
Pour some more
And dance away.

How is she nearly five
And losing a tooth?
It was only yesterday that the first one peeked through,
Surely?
How is she painting such exquisite, thoughtful pictures,
When last week we cooed over scribbles
And helped her hold the pen?
And she's learning to read, and when we bake cakes
She decorates them so carefully, and they're better than mine.
She's choosing her own clothes, and putting them all on,
And helping baby sister into hers.
She's challenging me, questioning me,
And though I'm so proud, every "why" scares me half to death,
Because she's no longer my baby,
She's finding and claiming and asserting her self.
She will be five, and there's a lump in my throat,
at the multicoloured candles on the cake,
So many...too many...
Too old, too soon.