Heather

Heather Mar 2018

If
When the purple clouds envelope the blue wide world
If everybody is just made
Of doll parts
And given plastic eyes
To look alive
If the snow falls blackly
And the trees turn their backs
Might as well go down in history

#death

Heather Mar 2018

Mascara

Why must you insist upon
Setting me alight?
You spit flames
And complain of how it burns your throat

How dare you lay so languidly
Sprawling across white sheets
And feign the sorrow of a faded silver statue
You spill across me
By virtue of a withered scarlet rose
Tearing scratch marks
They drip your inky blood

And what right have you
To turn your head
And insist
You love me after all?

So if you love me
Let me dry my eyes

Heather Mar 2018

Hourglass

I’ll be your watch
Your grandfather clock
The voluptuous shadows draped across a sundial

I’ll be the seductive whisper of an hourglass’s sand
Cascading with the every elegance
Of a pearl in a crystalline oyster

I’ll be the waltz the hours
The spiralling, somersaulting chorus
Of a ticking timepiece
I’ll take the every delicate step
A breaking mirror takes
Unravelling in sharply drawn thread

I’ll be the sun on your skin
The amber embrace
When the morning unfolds
And I’ll be the light behind your eyes
On silvery nights

Heather Feb 2018

0413

Milk and honey
And China blue
Lemonade night-time shade
Heavy talks
Barefoot walks
Pale breath and quiet air
And hands in my hair
Trace each word in heart shaped lines
Divine

Talk to me in topaz
Because diamond’s just conceited glass
And oh, how I love your birdsong laugh
Killing the angry lurking silence
In which all soon shall drown

“What do you write about?”
“Depends. Nothing real mostly.”
“You should write about right now. This moment. It deserves a poem.”

Feb 2018

Zachary William

Clip-On

He liked to use
clip-on promises
because it was so much
easier
than learning to tie knots
and facing down the
fear
that you could strangle yourself
if you weren't careful

Heather Feb 2018

New Moon

I’m held aloft
Atop a giant’s shoulders
Closer to the sky

I kiss the moon
And beg her
“Please come home, moon
We miss you”

Every night the quiet crimson flowers
Encased in glass
Hang from brown stalks
And cry bright tears

But what have streetlights to make them sad?
We might as well eat plastic
For breakfast

So I kiss the moon
And beg her
“Please come home, moon
We miss you”

It was a new moon and the streetlights were far too brights