Caitlin

Caitlin Feb 2018

Turning pages in parks,
Rowdy boys cut out Insult
To little girls quivering off swings.

I could get up and leave
The war between the young,
The kings, fighting to hold their castles,
But meet Incompatibility.

Mother tore track so far
Away from ties of passion,
The threads lay bare and useless in cars.

I remain in the air,
With my Illusion blocking.
Just me and blue: the swing, the sky, ink,
Dripping from my tongue, past and present.

Hip flask, a hand to lips,
Working like headphones to drown
The children’s clamour of hands and hate.

But effects don’t last.
Before blackness hints at stars,
I’ll find myself returned to Insult,
Incompatibility,
And reality,

#childhood #life #cruelty #coping

Caitlin Feb 2018

Perfect material for memories

The blanket does not hold a child,
But a matured pattern
Of further possibilities.
It’s wool worn, patched,
Ripples and changes.

Now the blanket blows out the stars,
The wind rushes to echo,
To send a shiver of laughter.
Each fiber breathes, shimmers,
Catching the loose sound.

Fresh dew fills the blankets warm hair,
So blonde it shines through water,
To reflect lights scattered above.
Laughter shatters, fractures,
Skipping to the sky,

#childhood #memories #perfection #laughter #happiness #indifference

Caitlin Feb 2018

Nothing taken nothing gained

I know how the slow dripping tap feels,
And more.
I know that sink won’t fill.
Not if the drops linger.

Water does not have a memory,
It forgets.
Or pays no attention,
Each orb the only world.

That reflection clearly has no eyes,
I hope.
Or it would see the sharp
Pain its coldness caused.

But as it clings to each droplet I
Wonder,
Do you try to savour
The reason for each drop?

Now I see, each droplet is a waste,
Insensitive.
So why do I listen
To you cold dripping tap?

— The End —