1330

Without a smile—Without a Throe
A Summer’s soft Assemblies go
To their entrancing end
Unknown—for all the times we met—
Estranged, however intimate—
What a dissembling Friend—

Isn’t physically quick or agile.

Disappears in libraries.

Has been known to dissolve into the physical pages of books.

Is good at tucking herself into the stacks and retreating to reading nooks.

Blends in at coffee shops where her voice can be drowned out by the grinding and the steaming.

Can become indistinguishable in the dark of theatres, in the quiet shuffle of art galleries, the finger-snapping of poetry readings, the hum and jostle of the Tube.

Is indistinct. Adept at hiding in plain sight.

Whats worse
Saying hello the last time
Or introducing myself

Eyes glued
To the unknown parts
Of the ground
Not knowing
That you would be the reason
I write poetry.
The reason
I cant go back to sleep
In the early hours
Or the reason I fall in the woods
And no one
Hears my screams
But only in your dreams
Is where you will find them.

There they are.
Slowly drinking diet coke
Until It dies.
Way to play your part
On making me a better person,
I just wished
You could of taken it eaiser
On the low blows
And the jabs you took
Which gave my heart
3rd degree burns
Which were scrapped
On the closed roads
Of my weaknesses.

Can you please talk quieter?
I'm still trying
To find the reasons
Why I took that pill
To follow your rabbit self
Into the swiss chess
Called your logic.

Now I sit here thinking
What felt better
Saying goodbye
The first time
Or saying good riddance
The last time.

Drowse, sink, escape
Until free to sleep
There you will fall deep
In love while the nape
Of your neck and the shape
Of it is softened by touching with a sweep
Of my pressing lips that creep
Towards yours. There your hair will drape;
Fold with light
As the lamp finds your face
And the fire finds the night
To where the moon finds its space;
There the desire to kiss will reach its height
And fade and leave without a trace.

©Jack Aylward

we poets spend lives
writing praise and penances;
the wine of our souls.

see these ivory bones?
they were erected like tombstones
infant hope from moon light
don't be scared of the memories
i left them behind
i hope you will remember me
a skeletal dot in history
the human mark is a body
once larger than life
now resting lifeless
leaving more than ivory bones

There is no magic any more,
We meet as other people do,
You work no miracle for me
Nor I for you.

You were the wind and I the sea—
There is no splendor any more,
I have grown listless as the pool
Beside the shore.

But though the pool is safe from storm
And from the tide has found surcease,
It grows more bitter than the sea,
For all its peace.