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Scarlet Niamh Aug 2020
Crooked, narrow heart. Blazing bright,
right through the gaps and slats
on the way to the rippling waves
of breath. Eyes are tilted in laughter,
discreet and unassuming.
Subtle glances, warm skin,
touching again.
Magnets on a countertop
Fistfuls of skin.
I can't get close enough.
Deafening quiet eyes looking into me,
nowhere to go except into you.
Mar 2020
Scarlet Niamh Aug 2020
Eyes closed in darkness,
burning and twisting feelings
call to me.
That dance we do when we're together,
childish and insecure,
soaked through
from the blue, grey, blue.
We watch it rolling,
dull, heavy and silent,
in the intermissions,
eyes open and breath fast.
Our bodies flutter closer
in confusion,
My feet won't meet the earth.
Two eyes beam and glimmer
in the dirt, a deep,
white blindness, and they scatter me
all at once, render me wild
and impatient.
Lonely birds are quiet,
The mountains are consumed
by an advancing sky.
Nothing is singing.
Trees echo over a white world,
limbs crawling over the earth,
a single cry playing on repeat
until it slowly fades away.
Oct 2019
Scarlet Niamh Aug 2020
I wait for the lights to turn down but they burn my eyelids.
I hear animals scurry into the darkness that I am waiting for.
Aching limbs, strained eyes, tension,
The soothing words grind between my teeth patiently.
I wait to be grounded, by the soil in my toes
Or the light passing between my fingers.
The time filters away, washes my feet with tenderness
And begs me not to go back to the city.
Although formless and absent, it sings sweetly
And reminds me of my loneliness.
Maybe I will stay for a little while longer
Archiving my old notebook.
Scarlet Niamh Oct 2019
I am an aroma trapped in the haze,
So sweet and friendly like the taste of decay.
I know that I am sciatica and sage,
Reminiscent of an older age.
I feel like a cherry tree falling apart,
Season after season, a forest of art,
And candles burn in the bottoms of hearts,
Chocolate and smoke on the steps in the dark.
I can taste the fire on your mouth
And all the birds are flying south
But I can't bring myself to look at you. Not now,
Or maybe ever,
Because through this earth we've come together
And how do I know that two birds of feather
Can fly over mountains and valleys and heather
Without falling apart? Words over eyes,
I am blinded by the sun in the sky.
I was fog and shadow 'til you parted the vines
But what if this feeling that I had tonight
Is just your voice ringing in my ears,
Tinnitus, words that carry my fears.
The taste of your name is wild and fierce
Like the rowan or rose or stacks on the piers.
I am tripping and falling over all that is clear
In the water. So cold.
So cold, I have nowhere to go.
I am drowning in a world of all that I know.
I no longer have a place of my own,
I remember the scent of your laughter and prose
And I am all alone.
I am devastation, like sorrow and lies,
And I will crumble and wither until the reprise
Yet, despite your mouth being so close to mine,
I don't know what the touch of your hand implies.
I am lesser than you.
The shadows are warping, the valleys are blue.
My tongue is caught on the taste of the yew,
The water is rising like prayers on the pews.
Collapsed and free, I'm tumbling through
The oceans, the ashes, a lark full of rue.
Scarlet Niamh Oct 2019
Two days have passed since I last dreamt of you.
Lights appear before me and my eyes glare,
oceans, diamonds, blinding brightness filling me
to the brim. Eyes closed in the darkness,
I feel those heart feelings calling to me
once again, burning and twisting
in that dance we do when we’re together.
That blue, grey, blue mist,
heavy as the silence upon us; we watch
it rolling closer in the intermissions, eyes open
and breath fast, bodies fluttering closer in confusion.
Lonely birds are quiet and unnerving,
and nothing sings as the mountains disappear
into a lilac sky, white limbs devouring the forest,
edges of trees echoing through the blank earth.
I hear you bouncing and gleaming in the blindness,
that deep, white blindness, and you scatter me
all at once, render me wild and impatient.
I see your hands in her hair, shadowing
Josephine, the colour of your skin rippling
through the room. How do I tell you
that I am a dead end and you are a valley?
Petals on the river, in my hands, my feet,
I feel you leaving
all over again.
Scarlet Niamh Sep 2019
The sun is in her eyes as she glides
through the trees, her hair tangled
with ocean, and she is extraordinary.
Looking at her, I am stranded
in that musical way, only a leaf
floating on a wide, wide river.
She swims beneath.
Miles away, I hear the winds reciting
her name, and even in September, she is a summer
watching the rains appear, reappear,
birds flocking in confusion.
I close my eyes and line the pages
with constellations, see the stars murmuring
on her forehead. Gold glimmers
in front of her eyes, my eyes,
and I am no one, nowhere.
Scarlet Niamh Aug 2019
I came from the old times dancing on a
hillside which toppled into lakes, tipping
down into endless valleys of green and
blue, my hands in the palms of a stranger.
I kissed him under fog as the oil rigs
skittered across the water, finches swooping
to protect their young. As a laughing melody
hummed between us, electric and satisfied,
I felt our hands shining so brightly in
the darkness around. I sang an old song
in the woods and it echoed back to me.

Roots run deep and wild. At first they lay quiet,
toes buried in moss, and I wondered if
the leaf felt my touch as silken, smooth as
water, or jagged as the stones beneath
it. And then they were livid, raging, boiling
under the surface as I stood above
screaming water, churning the earth from the
edges of the river, eating away
at the land I was bound to. Desolate
and sodden, I faltered on the borders
of my home town, longing for the heaviness
of salt to catch on my tongue once more.

And then I changed, or grew, and forgot what
it was I had lost. Now, looking down upon
empty forests, I no longer remember
the song they are singing, yet I hear the scent
of a dead earth, the sound of a mushroom
breaking at the stem. Lying on lamenting
sands, I feel a droplet land on my cheek
and, for a moment, feel a whisper
of home. Carrying my feet from the meadows,
I'll mutter softly, singing my melody alone.
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