Poetry's there to touch.
But, touching without consent
is bad, isn't it?

I was such a beautiful child,
With my shoulder lengths of
Sun bleached barley.

Smiled little pearl soldiers in
Line. Old glassesless ladies
Took me for
Girlchild.

But I grew twisted like an
Appletree around a
Graveyard path
Lightpost.

Teeth came out crooked.
Hair fell out at thirteen.
I was big for my age;
Grew other hair in places
I never knew I would.

My voice broke as if in
Sorrow over the child
Inside that had
Died. After that I spoke as if
Into a bucket.

Sometimes I catch my father
Gazing at me through a slight veil
Of grievance for that same
Child.

I would never dream
To blame him.

They said she suffered from visions, so
They locked her up in her room,
I heard her pacing the floor in there
To softly cry in the gloom,
Her food they slid in under the door
And that’s when I heard her shout:
‘You can’t keep me forever in here,
You must let my nightmares out!’

But a doctor listened outside the door
And shook his head as he went,
A Priest then wafted some incense in
And muttered a sacrament,
But no-one dared to unlock the door
For they’d heard a howl within,
‘She must be conjuring demons there
Or some terrible type of sin.’

At night when everyone was asleep
I’d put my head to the floor,
And whisper low to my sister through
The gap, just under the door.
‘Go find the key,’ she would say to me,
‘And unlock the door in the night,
We’ll creep on out while the house is still,
Take off while the Moon is bright.’

I didn’t know where to find the key,
I didn’t know where it was,
It wasn’t hung up on the kitchen hook
Or the nail in the wooden cross.
She begged me, ‘Keep on looking for it,
It’s the only chance for me,
Then we will be together again
At last, and finally free!’

But then her visions returned again
And lights shone under the door,
While sounds, like animals caught in pain
Built up to a sullen roar.
I whispered, ‘Sis, can you hear me now,
I’m scared,’ and started to bawl,
She cried, ‘There’s lights and a million things
All creeping out of the wall.’

I went to beat on our parent’s door
But I heard my father snore,
I ran downstairs and I found the key
They’d hid in the bureau drawer.
I hesitated before I turned
The key in my sister’s lock,
The door swung open and lay ajar
As I stood, stock-still in shock.

For in the room was a wooded glade
With creepers clogging the walls,
Bats were hung from the old lampshade,
The bed was a waterfall,
But of my sister, never a sign
She must have been lost in the trees,
But monsters struggled out of the wall
As I fell in dread to my knees.

They say I suffer from visions, so
They’ve locked me up in my room,
I couldn’t cope with my sister’s loss
They said, but she’s in a tomb.
I know she’s not, for I hear her whisper
Under the door at night,
‘We’ll creep on out while the house is still,
Take off while the Moon is bright.’

Then sounds, like animals caught in pain
Build up to a sullen roar,
I call for her, again and again,
‘Just get the key to the door.’
But then she fades, and she slips away,
So far that I have to shout:
‘You can’t keep me forever in here,
You must let my nightmares out!’

David Lewis Paget

Lazed beneath the sycamore,
we laid upon the forest floor
amidst the myriad hues of leaves,
so picturesque in reverie.

As we basked within the shade
we'd reminisce our latter days.
Our dream come true in years to come
with hope our threads of fate stay spun.

Kiss me here, oh darling dear;
that's what you'd whisper in my ear.
You'd draw me close into your soul;
not once could I resist your pull.

We'd traipse the earth between the trees;
forever yours I thought I'd be,
until the day that you weren't there...
until the day that you weren't there.

And just like you, the leaves were gone;
not one lone branch did they lay upon.
Our footsteps where we once had walked
now cloaked beneath a sheet of frost.

And from the sky poured shades of gray;
the sun will hide to mark this day.
I'll be right here, oh darling dear;
that's what you'd whisper in my ear.

Our dream come true had turned to naught,
just as our tree had fell to rot.
Now there's nothing left to find,
save for the memories left behind.

Razed beneath the sycamore,
I wrest my soul forevermore.
Our cherished past runs 'cross my eyes,
and dies within my own demise.

the tighter

         you tighten the strings

                         the more feathers

                                        fall off her wings

I'm not sure how this works
Out, you and me,
All twiddling thumbs and
Awkward hair twirls unsure
How to properly
Spit
Out a greeting,

"Oh hello."

And what comes after,
And what should come after.

We try our best to
Veer away from each other,
Afraid that the other would
Smell the
Rancid blue cheeses on
Our tongue,

Or the cliches displayed for all to see,
Like spinach in our teeth.

So we nod.

Slowly.

Abruptly.

With chin up and hair
Tangled somewhere behind
Our ears,
Hopefully.

And ice breakers stale
In the backs
Of our jeans pockets.

Noses crinkling in
Silent prayer as to
Never have to ask the person

"Sooo, how's the weather" or

"Sooo, how much does a polar bear weigh?"

(Enough to break the ice, by the way.)

There is a number in my phone
That I never call
But its just there
There is a promise I made
To never call
So its just there
Its impossible to erase it
And there is no reason why its there
But its just there
I never message
Or call it
Or get a call
Or a message from it
But its just there
If someone ever asks me for it
I’ll probably say I don’t have it
Or that I never had it
And they will not trust me
But that’s what I’ll say
That its not there
But its just there
I know it by memory
It will probably change someday
Get new random digits
But it does not matter
It is not there only on my phone
Its not just a number
But its just there
Its probably out of my call list
Or not
Coz I keep deleting all others to make it be there
Or when it goes away
I just dial it to have it on the list
To know that I know the number
To know that its there
I shall never call the number
It will never get answered if I do
I shall never get a call
I might not answer if I do
But its just there
And if someday I erase my phone
I’ll probably feed it back in
But won’t ever call the number
Won’t ever get a call
But I’ll just want to have it
To know that I know the number
To know
That its there

My robot died yesterday
May 14, 2035
A little tap and a squeeze
on my shoulder
and it gasped:
"Goodbye, master -
I'll see you in Heaven"
And then a few clicks
and a few kicks
and it lay down still and silent

And at its funeral
I intoned all 3 final words
with the deepest love and gratitude:
*"Rust in  Peace"