A lock, enthralled by a fist.
A mouth, enamoured by a neck.  
A picture, on this Friday wall.

The baroque grandeur of
Warm seas on velvety spring evenings
Is in stark contrast to the ache
In my hands from the aircon being
Just too ******* cold.

And

Who do these stars think they are?
This heavenly phosphorescence
Placed so precisely on the lapel of
The night sky.
A supernova pocket square?

And

What is the story with this ***?
Wheedling it’s way down my throat
To try and melt the tremors in
The pit of my belly.
It’s ****** well working.

The Bougainvillea cares not for the needs of its guests.
It throws its pink shade regardless,
over rock and sand and weary travellers.

Let’s go, you and I.
And sweat beneath the African sky
Watch the lions lazing
And the wild dogs playing.  
We can sip Amarula
And listen to the hyenas laugh and cry
As the mythical sunset
Silhouettes giraffes and Acacia trees.

Let’s go, you and I
And walk the streets of old town Barcelona.
Find old timey cafe and luxuriate
In sangria and itty bitty tapas
Stroll by Sagrada and gawp
At Gaudi’s home.
Maybe we’ll stop for some ice cream
Maybe we’ll just go back to the hotel

Let’s go, you and I
And swim the blue blue seas of the Bahamas
Nervously Play with the nurse sharks
Hoping they’re not the other sharks
Take those long walks on those beaches
That everyone likes.
We’ll sit on Jankanoo and drink sky juice
Until we can truly reach the heavens

Let’s go, you and I
And ski the Slopes of the Swiss alps
We can stop at small cabins and drink
heartwarming schnapps
Take trains that slink around mountains
And sprint through white capped forests
We can put snow down the backs
Of each others jackets and
Squeal in furious delight.

Let’s go, you and I.
And squish our way through the streets of New York
Relieved when we can pop into a shop
To escape the crowds.
Necks sore from looking up
Small town people in the Big Apple City
Central Park for pretzels and Snapple
Times Square later, neon addiction sated.
And a boat ride to see lady liberty

Let’s go, you and I
And bare our feet in Balinese temples
Speak to the monks in broken English
And then retire to our curtained gazebo
To indulge in the sins they can’t
We’ll get massages and champagne
Then ride our bikes along pothole
Ridden dirt roads.

Let’s go, you and I
And get Nuevo Chic in London’s west end
We can catch a show in tux and evening gown
Then head to the pub and catch a pint
We can walk the trail, hunt Jack the Ripper
And visit The Tower.
Cross the Thames and maybe
No definitely
Another pint in some quaint little place.

Let’s go, you and I
And lie in bed late on lazy Sunday mornings
I’ll poach the eggs and make the hollandaise
You can put some upbeat daytime jazz on
Then we can go sit in the garden
Under the oak tree and read
Each other poetry
Until it’s much much later
...

The night is old
And my eyes are heavy
Heavy, a puppy held too long.
You’d think I’d sleep. But the door lies open
Staring at me,
The threshold slathered in anxious thoughts
Responsibility, a feather, a mountain
The reminder is onerous and incessant
Inescapable, tied to the wall
Must sleep. Please!

I’d like to say thank you
For showing me how
To pick out the Big Dipper
In a strangely starred sky.

We find it in the bottom of a cup
In a wine glass or beer mug
Imbibing all manner of spirits
Until the blackness takes hold.

Or in a person who eases our spirit
A phone call, a message.
Acknowledging our existence
And letting us know we’re loved

Some people find it in lines on a mirror
Or in a needle that leaves scars
It’s smoked off of a spoon
Or rolled in some paper

Other people cut, pain to ease pain
Slicing away bits of anxiety and flesh
Leaving thin long reminders of
Feelings best forgotten

Some find it in poetry, vomiting feelings
Onto a pristine white page until
It’s full and stained in emotion  
An artwork of agony

A few seek moments alone to
Close their eyes and meditate.
Counting breaths and clearing imagination
Getting lost in the maze of their minds

Some brave individuals
Listen to blues and sorrow
Their anxieties leaking from their eyes
And out of their noses.

Me. Maybe I do them all
Maybe I don’t.

I don’t write about you.
I daren’t, for my anger and resent
Could only portray you in the worst
Possible manner.
So I’d rather not.
I’d rather not indulge the bitter acid inside
I’d rather remember you before the
Heartache and pain, a flashing smile
And a twinkling eye. A glow and presence.

I do not miss you, not anymore.
I count our parting as one of the great blessings
One of the bullets dodged.
And rightfully so.
Duality in destruction
Can never come to any good

I do not hate you. I Never did
Surprising, I know.
Such feeling is reserved for enemies
And even then sparsely.
I hate things because of you.
But not you. I pity you.

Nonetheless I write this that one day
Whether it’s read or not
You will know. That I hope you are ok
That your zebra comes home
That your lion doesn’t eat you
I’d wish you happiness

Au revoir, bon voyage, goodbye

Sincerely your “no longer a friend”
Me

Peppered walls, pocked and pink
Stand proud.
Little thing, shutters agape and haggard
Stand proud.
Someone calls you a home, a house, mine
Stand proud.
You’re a shelter, a solace, a sanctuary
Stand proud.
Though beside you rise glass and steel
Stand proud.
You dominate, unique, one
Stand proud.
You’re loved, you leak, you’re you
Stand proud.

At one point in time
When all is said and done
The only things that remain
Are the ashes of good intentions

It is a general rule that
People maintain an underlying
Need for gratification
A facade of “I don’t”

No ***** given

This is false
We’re all liars inside
To your friends, families
Selves.

To look in the mirror
Whether model or mould
Is a painful reminder
Of this stark reality.

I took that train again
The one that doesn’t stop
This time it took me to a land of blondes
A veritable tree.
With many things that a gentleman
Should not write about.
I’d like to think that’s me
Though I’ve proven myself wrong in the past
It’s quite the opposite.
None the less. The train was boarded
And the riders were comfortable,
Smiling and laughing right into the collision.

Nassau
Warm smiles under rusted hulls,
mailboats smoking,
lobster red cruise ship tourists,
back to the islands they go

Highborn Cay
White cloth walled gazebos,
bikinis and tan.
Loungers on pearl beaches,
lovers, the sea and sand

Compass Cay
A pirates place.
Rustic docks in crystal blue.
A meeting place, restless souls
Pathways and secrets on a tropical island.
Oh, frolicking sharks? In cuddle piles.

Staniel Cay
Rural and lovely,
Pink and blue shops, take your pick.
Haggling fishermen in front of a quaint little pub.  
far from home, further from troubles.
Locals tell me god blesses me a lot.
The church has the best plot of land.

She’s adventure,
She’s Spirit,
A fighter  
No limit

Her Smile, a sunset.
Her laugh, a chorus.
Like a Rose of Noisette.
She blooms right before us.

Hair, country morning gold
Eyes, cotton candy blue.
A fighter, courage extolled
A warrior, her struggle is through

My favourite place is in the breeze
Or in between the sea and sand.
My cup of coffee close at hand
The cooing doves a gentle tease

Another place I like to go
Is up amidst the mountain snow.
A cup of schnapps to warm my heart
And make a man feel mighty smart

Where’s your place?
where do you hide?
A quite space?
Or a love that died?

Choose to write a beautiful thing
Something sweet, sweet as sin!

Cotton filled mouth
Cotton filled head
Lids drooping South
Eyes filled with lead

Coffee’s too sweet
Lights are too bright
My sleeps incomplete
My head’s dynamite

I’ll sip and I’ll stare
Between here and there.
And pull on my smoke
Coz it’s just one big joke

Three.
   “It’s too high” I wailed.
   “Jump” she said from the crystal pool.
   “I can’t I’m scared.”
   “I’m here” she cooed “I’ll catch you.”
I did and she did.  

Seven
   “I don’t want to” I kicked
   “Go” she said from the cars window.
   “No, it’s lame”
   “I’ll be here when you’re finished”
I went and she was

Sixteen
   “I can’t” I frustrated
   “ It’s easy” she said from over my shoulder
   “No, it’s stupid”
   “I’ll help, let me show you”
I tried and she taught

Twenty One
   “I want to” I planned
   “You can” she said from inside the phone
   “But, it’s so far”
   “I’m a call away, I’m proud of you”
I went and she was.

Twenty Five
   “I’m scared” she said
   “It will be fine” I reassured from the hospital chair
   “But it isn’t good”
   “Im here for you, the meds will work”
She believed and they didn’t

Twenty Seven
   “It’s over” she whispered
   “I know” I sobbed from the foot of the bed
   “It’s my time to leave”
   “It’s been a rough two years, you can rest now”
She did and I crumbled

Thirty Two
   “I’m hurting” I thought
   “....”
   “I have to be strong”
   “....”
So I try because she watches

One syllable,
three measly letters
And lifetimes of happiness.

The greatest smiles are come from it
The happiest tear is shed
It’s utterance can make you JUMP and LEAP and TWIRL and SPIN or...
Or burst hearts sealed in lead.

And lifetimes of happiness
Three measly letters
One syllable.
Yes.

I met an unfriendly parrot
I can’t blame him really. He lived in a cage
He stood there and squawked
Screaming displeasure at all who passed.
Staring balefully at sunburnt tourists
Asking if polly wants a *******
He doesn’t want a ****** single one.

I did find out what he liked.
Completely by accident.
Turns out he likes songs,
Click songs, because
“The white people cannot say Qongqothwane”

I’d love to write something clever and witty
To capture the essence of Dr Suess in a ditty
But try as I might, the words don’t take flight
And the whole thing just sounds kind of ******

I walk by a garden that’s not mine.
Not everyday, but less than I’d want.
It has a flower blossoming right by the gate.

It’s petals are green.  They sparkle with dew.
Bright and glowing at all times of the night and day.

It’s face is fire. Crackling and warm, a beacon to lost souls and small animals. Warming pieces of people that were unknowingly frozen.

It’s stem is lithe. Twisting, gently curving its way up to the sun. Strong enough to hold its head up and not bow to the wind.

It’s roots, enigma. I do not know how deep they go. But I’d be willing to try find find a *** big enough to hold them all stretched out.

I’d wish to have such perfection in my garden.
I’ve tried placing beauty in it, to no avail.
I once even planted a pretty **** with thorns and spikes. It didn’t last either.
Perhaps my land is salted.

There’s a place we should not go
Where white snow falls and foxes dive in, head first.
The trains that go there do not stop.
Their brakes are cracked useless things.
Their fuel is limitless. The lever is set to full speed.
It’s not an easy train to disembark from.
Not for want or for not wanting.
I’m of the latter currently. Though I knew boarding this train would send me there. I got on anyways.
Now I’ll just enjoy the ride. Have a little ski, perhaps even become a fox.

Sickeningly empty. Surrounded by silence
Its unerring and it aches. A single fruit on a monstrous tree
A car without gears a pilot without a stick
Biologically nonsensical, emotionally dead
And I slept

It’s a fickle thing that moves us to this
A miss said word here and a cut there
It’s barbs and fangs and sharp things that stab
It’s an unpleasant time for all.
A crucible to temper the soul and harden the heart
When it’s done is it impenetrable?
Is there an alloy that does not become brittle in its strength.
Too many times in the fire and everything breaks
Too much fire and we all are changed
I cannot be soft. It doesn’t suit me

3am. It’s alive.
a faster beating heart
It’s the whir of the air conditioning
Removing the heat and leaving the sticky sludge over the soul
deep breaths to calm
blades to sever thick ship lines to the past.
It’s the drip of the cat fountain.
3am it’s a brutal hour, it’s a painful hour,
It’s a dead hour.

A spherical furnace lights the world
His great love mimics his efforts at night
Orbs daytime warmth doth flowers unfurl
Her pale lunar grace cradles lovers in flight

An embrace that is mythed in the ages of men
Portents of great things from dessert to fen
Their coupling is spied with shielded eye
Until she leaves his bright daytime sky

The warmth fills you up
The burn scrapes your throat
You’d like to hiccough
And your brain is afloat

The Bourbon is hot
The ice is not
The ginger is sweet
But my heart prefers it neat.

I swam the sea
Manmade fish with rubber fins and glass eyes
It wasn’t difficult to breath
Quite the contrary
I witnessed wonders of man & mother
Bejewelled sealife amongst statues of stone
Sunken artistry, seaplanes and Poseidon
A lady of rock, the Ocean Atlas
Holding up the sky from beneath the waves.
The Bahama Mama casting a gentle eye over her domain
Tomorrow maybe more.

The tree that never had to fight
For sun and sky and air and light,
But stood out in the open plain
And always got its share of rain,
Never became a forest king
But lived and died a scrubby thing.

The man who never had to toil
To gain and farm his patch of soil,
Who never had to win his share
Of sun and sky and light and air,
Never became a manly man
But lived and died as he began.

Good timber does not grow with ease,
The stronger wind, the stronger trees,
The further sky, the greater length,
The more the storm, the more the strength.
By sun and cold, by rain and snow,
In trees and men good timbers grow.

Where thickest lies the forest growth
We find the patriarchs of both.
And they hold counsel with the stars
Whose broken branches show the scars
Of many winds and much of strife.
This is the common law of life.

THE NIGHT has a thousand eyes,
  And the day but one;
Yet the light of the bright world dies
  With the dying sun.

The mind has a thousand eyes,         
  And the heart but one;
Yet the light of a whole life dies
  When love is done.

It’s been two days since I saw your name
My heart falls into my stomach whenever I do.
I turn to my crutches and hope they fill the hole inside me.
They don’t though
Very few things do anymore.
Writing helps, though I shouldn’t indulge this emotion. Not like this.
It’s been two days since my soul rebelled.
I hope it comes home soon.
My body can’t sustain

it’s the famed drink of pirates.
It’s a poor substitute for sedatives
Once again my trusty friend has failed in his task
Is the pain stronger?
Can the mind no longer be deadened by such
Does it take a narcotic of higher potency?
Is there such a substance?

I missed a day yesterday.
Wasn’t feeling very positive
So I went day drinking.
If I’m honest I’m not feeling up to it today either.
So instead of being morose I’ll just leave this here.
Until another day.

Morning mood was bleak
Spiced with some Jazz, a poached egg and Appreciation.

Noon was carnival!
BBQ on the dock sprinkled with tropical house and a heavy dose of ***.

Night was narcissism
Sinful Bourbon and banana desserts, cigarettes aplenty, blue lights and bad habits

It was hot before
Then spring came flaring with heat
I need to go swim

here I sit
Under thatched gazebo.
Gin, Tonic and Marlboro to keep me company.
The warm air broken by cool breezes blowing off the Bahamian sea.
The sweet smell of bug spray permeating the otherwise pristine natural beauty.
It adds to the charm, like sun cream stinks of beach days.
Gently the sea makes out with the shore below me. I’d feel like I was intruding had it been any other.
Peace pervades.
All woes and doubt settle into my feet.
A far cry from where they stir unwanted feelings in my belly and heart.
I could sit here all night.
I think I will.

She calls.
She waves at me.
Her French manicure frothing
Come she whispers.
Come with me to adventure.
Come with me to danger.  

Eventually I’ll go.
Despite all the corpses littering her depths
I wait for my hair to be pulled in and tied.
My sails to be hoisted and set
And my nose to be pointed
Towards the next port.

I knew a old dude from Du Preez
Who tried to **** over a tree
The tree was so high he ****** in his eye
And now the poor ******* can’t see.

Everytime I hit the front page
I am saddened by the tortured souls
Who populate its halls

I will not write sad poetry
I will endeavor to brighten these corridors
Feel free to join me.

The first odyssey is a difficult one
To step out into the blue and hope not to fall
But fall you will. Usually fast and quite hard
The next time you walk out yonder
It’s with more care, but the result is inevitable

Sometimes you leap off the cliff.
Sometime you inch off of it
Sometimes you don’t even see the edge

Eventually the landings become easier.
Your knees cushion you.
Your arms splayed for balance.
Is it getting easier?
No!

Sometimes you hit every outcrop on the way down
And land in a broken heap on the shore
But you know what
You’ll do it again, we all do.

A sea of buttery happiness
Is home to the roundest of islets
Side by side they wallow.

Quite naturally, the islands,
Are covered in ham.
Ham? Ham!
And lazily perched
On the hams highest point
Sits an avian sphere
Perfectly poached.

Straining against its
White little straight jacket.
Pop.

As far as I can see, elocution and declamation
Thee this and thou that
Whence and wheresoever
Isthmus and anemone
Vitriolic and Diatribe
Bloviate and aplomb

But feeling has no discrimination.
Rococo words are not needed
Simply put is just as good
Too much icing makes a cake too sweet.

Bon appetit

I don’t like writing this.

I have no desire to recant the red dress
The storm, the torrid blend of passion, anger and shame
Yet it haunts me at ungodly hours.

Let me sleep *****.
I can tick the bucket list.
Check the Facebook quiz
“One point for if you’ve ever loved”

Have you tasted ashes?
It’s ******* awful.

I won’t. I’ll try.
But ultimately it won’t happen.
I’ll sit here with good intentions
I’ll feel optimistic and chipper.
And then I’ll forget

In the end my goal is to improve
But just like many other projects
It’ll end up on the curb.

But I’ll certainly try.
So let’s make this day one.
Perhaps we’ll get to a “good enough” number.