To close my eyes

Such a slight and easy voyage
To cancel out the ******

Like taking a step
Into a puddle
And falling
Five thousand feet
Into blue water
With no light
But there’s still a glistening
And you feel it

Even in the center we have our senses
Feeling cold and warm within our safety
Introspection is such a safe and lonely place

I have a place
In my memory
That’s more than
Just a place

It’s a taste
A smell
A color
A feeling
A sound
And more

It’s hard to explain
But every now and then
My mind goes there
And I’m at that place

It’s only there for a moment
Not long enough to pinpoint exactly
What or where or why or when
This place is to me

But it’s definitely something
I’ve always known
Since I was a child
Probably love or family or home.

In bed it is nice
lying uncomfortably
feeling myself on all sides

more than one and a half
square meters of skin
exactly fitting

filled with warm feelings
that is me, in the flesh

The stretching
of my back and limbs
may have some cost

of shouting for attention
before they can relax and go
to sleep after the discharge

I lay there silent, beneath the soil,
A seed awaiting your sweet shower,
And in you came with moist and succour,
To shape my love into a flower...

(C) eileenmcgreevy@ymail.com 2019

there are times when
all you can feel is nothing
no rhyme or reason
no rhythm
no melody

not a single note in sight
no colour to be heard
no breeze to savour
although the aftertaste
is bittersweet

so you try them on
feeling after feeling
discarded on the floor
in a pile of ***** laundry
the broken records

and then they spin
out of control
there's no order
and no queue
the tapes won't rewind

the sink is still broken
your words still sting
the jukebox remains silent
empty.

Eyes dart like arrows, following movement, avoiding light,
seeking, chasing, hunting with curious paranoia,
diving forward into the vibrant thrills of the world,
constantly watching, observing, analyzing all surroundings,
settling with calm, calculated responses to a constant data stream,
typewriter-read, scanning all, no threats detected,
forever alert to the split-second movements and signals that count.

A blade of scent cuts through my mind's forest, sharp and direct,
a slap to the face, an awakening, a trigger,
close-range proximity, long-distance remembrance,
lingering like visible clouds in the air,
tasteful, able to be tracked, subconscious gravitation,
melting into the sweet-smelling void,
glazed with natural laughing-gas, my feet already move,
locked on to something I can't even have.

Branches crack, leaves rustle, neck twisted instantly,
turning curiously towards such a dance on eardrums,
nature's symphonies rushing like rivers through my mind,
lifting me into the air with every vibration and harmonic syllable,
carrying me away from the chaos and into perfect harmony,
floating through time as music shifts and pulls my limbs into motion.

Various flavors glide over delicate hills,
gentle, explosive, I never know what to expect,
stinging or soothing, sweet or bitter,
will the swirls of savory life caress my soul,
or rip it to shreds and bite the tongue it feeds,
a beast to be tamed, but never conquered.

Toes dig into rich earth, springing forth with power,
muscles tensing, relaxing, hands grasping for life,
velvet's gentle touch, water's enveloping embrace,
submerged in nerve endings shooting lightning across the abyss,
like a stone skipping across a rippling pond, balanced,
bounding into endless skies as clouds swirl and the sun shines,
forever living within the terrarium of our Universe.

Extend your hand, palm up
Silk - a long bolt of it,
unfurls across your palm
Cold on contact
And smooth
And smooth and smooth
Dragging a crisp wind behind it
As it falls away like a solid liquid

Extend your hand,
A gelatinous orb, almost sticky to the touch
But not quite.
Rubbery, resilient, responsive
Pulled under the weight of gravity
To bulge and droop over the edges of your hand
When you drop it, it hesitates as it lets go.

Extend your hand
Feel the weigh of a solid masonry cube
The greyest concrete
Each crenelation of its surface
Like a dry-skin pore
The corners and edges hold their shape sharply
Dragging fingers make a rasping sound
And a ceramic-like ring as it slips from your hand

Extend two hands together
Like to catch a stream of water
But instead you cradle
A tired and content weeks-old kitten
It adjusts its position, and curls up
Content with the warmth of your hands
You feel the soft, purring of velvet fur
It feels implicit trust, warmth and security
For its always-pending next nap.