Entangled in an ivy mass,
Surrounded by the lush long grass,
Some purple flowers show their heads,
Inbetween eternal beds.

On the graves, people weep,
On the people deep in sleep,
People live and people die,
After death it's here they lie.

Trust the dead and do not fear,
Their hearts and souls are always near
They do not live deep underground,
It's inside you that love is found.

I've tried so hard to write
a poem just for you
                                                                 but once the pen hits the paper
                                                          the words, get dry, they disappear
                          
                             every motion, every second,
                                          everything  
                               is slowed down to a pause

                            i'm lost in this universe
                                         that's lacking all things you

even at the thought
or briefest mention
of you
                                                                             i'm back at the moment
                                                        when my life was forever changed
                                  
                                     i can't write,
                                    i won't write
                    
                         because it will never justify
                      all the things that make you good
                      all the things that make you, you

                             i regret so much
                                 yet there's nothing i can do

if i knew there was only so much time
   i would have tried more, done more
                          
                                                                             lived more
                                                                             loved more

but now i'm stuck
in this moment
that isn't
                                                                                                       with you

I'm not sure where to begin -
I haven't been the same since you left.

But in amongst all that was lost,
I cannot find my grief -
I have hid behind the others for so long
That mine has fallen underneath.

Though right now - I feel some ease,
My heartbeat - flickers - My thoughts run quicker.
If I could somehow find my feet
I'd find some purpose,

                           I'd find some peace.

Dear Journal,

     The wheel turns on the black Bic lighter and conjures a restless spark,
thus igniting once sincere letters. In turn, arctic winds are evoked at dark.
Couple's ardor inspired prior to her departure abroad to Denmark.

     Confederate embers scorch paper, but less so than this dolorous heart.
Blazing in solidarity on a barren porch; a pyre for finest silks torn apart.
With weeping wounds cauterized, the true healing now just starts.

Sincerely,
Rekindled

Before my mum died, I never really took naps.

Couldn’t really understand it,
there was so much else you could do.

But then she died,
and it was just before midday
and I realised -
there’s so much day left.

It stretched on and on in front of me,
hours and hours of this same day,
still waiting.

So I went upstairs,
I told the people that needed to know,
and I went away for a while.

I woke back up in time for an evening meal
with an extended family filled with love
and a sister returned from work
and a phone beeped full of support.

And it’s been two years,
and the days stretch on
and still, almost every day now, I go away for a wee while.
Skip just a little bit,
every day.

I wonder if I should stop
Would my mum approve?
Probably not.

Maybe I’ll try tomorrow,
but still,
it’s late in the evening now.
Time to go to sleep,
Goodnight

Hearts hurt this mourning, echoes quiet grief

For a husband-father slipped beyond autumn’s leaf

Into winter’s winds so harsh, who can bear the pains?

Yesterday his nearness felt today only his remains.

Remember love like it was, unbroken   circles knew

Life’s smoothness for time as it was, he and you

Recall family’s happiness given each a measure

A Carpenter of Scripture cradles a carpenter your treasure.

zooming down from space:
it's a gleaming drop of tear;
drying up too fast!

i feel like there is so much love left
when people leave us
and we have no idea what to do with them
so we keep them in boxes,
we store them in drawers
and sometimes,
we wear them on cold nights
when no one is watching.

all around us we make sure
we live in a place
with no trace of what has been
yet every closet is filled with the bones
of a dead love
and every corner is a reminder
of where we got lost

we hide the things they left behind,
we create mausoleums out of our rooms
and call it “moving on”

even my room is haunted
with his hasty departure
his old sweatshirt,
his silk necktie,
and the ocean blue summer dress he gave me
gather dust as a relic of a past
i have exhibited in the walls
of my broken heart

i buy cigarettes
and try to remember the taste of
his nicotine mouth
i study my face in the mirror
and try to remember the look of the girl
he fell in love with
i stay in the nights longer
i skip all the cracks in the pavement
i keep wishing he come back

one day i woke up
in a cold bathroom floor
filled with my tears and *****
that’s when I knew
where all the leftover love goes
it seeds hatred
then grows into despair
and finally bears the fruit of grief

there is no reasoning with a broken heart
only grief

and grief is the greatest leftover love there is
it spills all over
and seals your chest tight
until you feel no fight
and no other

so i waited and wasted away
until my ribs cracked
under the pressure of all the grief flowing out

and one day
i realized
i left one of his jackets
in my old apartment abroad
i couldn’t bring it any longer
my luggage is filled with so many new things
and his was a heavy garment
i just couldn’t carry anymore.

Ever since I was a child,
I have held near and dear
Fairy tales and whispers of More
Not often faithful belief but joy,
Wonder, lessons of morality mental pearls
That I might string, lively, worrybeads,
Which turn, fixed, Princess Periezade's grief,
No healing waters for transformed princes,
For the Magic has gone out.

It is no wonder that Pandora
In that box containing all plagues
Held too Hope, broken-winged, fragile, dull
Worst of all evils, to Nietzsche,
I understand him much better now,
It does truly prolong the torment,
The taunting cruelty that some tomorrow
May be better, but not tonight  
For the Magic has gone out.