Time threads her necklace patiently, Choosing carefully the colour and shape of our experiences, Here, a tumbled quartz - luminous and rosy, There, shards of darkest onyx - tragic and uncompromising, Every now and again, a perfect sphere of sacred turquoise to mark a special occasion.
Finally, satisfied with her handiwork Time ties off the strand, And weaves the precious metal of our dreams - unrealised - into an intricate clasp, As she places the memento around her bejewelled neck she sighs to herself and whispers: ‘Such promise, such pain, such beauty, such loss; I will treasure you always.’ Then reaching for her spool of silver thread, she begins again to thread her golden needle.
Ours is like a strand of yarn Stretched across a narrow gap Though the wind berates And the rain pours out in the summer storm It will not break, it will endure But perhaps in time will sag and fray As if we let it so to go Or even chose to cut it down Because you have your own phone lines now Made of woven steel and unbroken arms As we were just a childhood yarn Or a single strand between two hearts
Perhaps one day...most likely. I'll be a memory In your mind.
I unpacked your boxes too quickly. I exposed the whiteness of your thighs freckled by the reddish-brown hairs I uncovered the wrinkles in your blue iris the lies and tears behind your front teeth evenly crooked
I wanted your words to flutter from your mind but they dropped from your throat to the floor I wanted your laughter in your core to be kind but it came from a shallow, envious drawer
I pulled strands and veins out of boxes Found bundles and tangles that I assumed should be unraveled but when I pulled and twisted one straight, you left in your car with a crunch in the gravel Drove straight into the arms of Malbec wine at low rise tables with one chair, an excerpt from a novel bent at the spine and the sweater you never let me wear
I drank from the pint glass you brought home for me and it wasn't a statement. I wore no mask. I simply sipped. It's only meaning to transport water to my lips Calmly, coating my belly So slowly I'd wait Imagining water burning like ***** Barreling down my throat like an interstate
I wanted it back the feeling of feeling the fear that walks with revealing the love, the artist, and the lunatic all cooked together and left to steep
I pulled out my own strands the ones anchored deep. I worked endlessly to straighten You wrapped yourself in my veins to tightly You were trapped in the bundle so you ran, then came a stumble forgetting that I was anchored too and so you pulled me right down with you.
And I left you there with your tearful stare I bunched up these strands and laid out my demands I carried them off, the tangled mess You once announced was yours to hold but you overestimated yourself and watched me become cold A block of ice, you could never melt you were not all, you were not my wealth you were only the weight I felt.
I was clutching on tattered vines Praying fervently to all that are divine To let it hold Please make it hold
I was gripping tightly on my last strand of faith (I'm slipping) Just let me hold Let my life hold
Then you pulled at me And I went crashing d o w n So here I am with a shattered heart, a broken soul and a tattered gown.
This is about how you're barely holding on without going mad and then yearning for some guy's love turns out to be your breaking point. It's titled Stark Naked because I wanted to write something about vulnerability and here it is.
The tide collects it all by morning; The drama and the ***** napalmed across the path. The scenes at second warning for most had been swept away Before they wiped the sand from their shoes.
Empty cans of Dutch and Tuborg slouched on the dunes Are tight-lipped about the Velvet Strand's secret ecosystem; An underground microcosm; A peripheral cluster of seething emotions drowned.
Memories of those years - although some expired, The vestiges take pride of place - hold a cosmic clump of smells, Tastes, firsts, goosebumps, hangovers, and ends. I never before understood what I was holding on to.
Winters down in the shelters nearly killed us but we Huddled through the cold, lit cheap firelogs and Found our oblivion. It didn't take much for me to develop A stagger - tolerance for a lot of things was learned later.
I narrowly recall my first taste of poor judgement and Hazy-headed stargazing. Six cans of Stonehouse Dry cider - most of which ended up on the hillside - Was a ridiculous endeavour that will always be sublime.
At the heart of it, I did it to impress a girl; The one every boy has or has had that sticks; Who holds your firsts and your hands and makes Things simple if only for her complexity;
The one that never fails to bring upon digression when Pens are involved. Revisiting reminiscence on a jarring note, I think of my Junior Cert exams and a cross-dressed man Exposing himself to two uniformed boys behind the public toilets.
This one doesn't stir the joy of the others. This one I wish would dissolve; An ugly, awkward blotch on a childhood.
Luckily fondness trumps disgust when recalling that place Because of sunrises and sunsets absorbed from the roof. The Summers spent jumping the gap and drowning in the Heat of the sun were everything.
The fugitive sand between our toes and under finger nails Became an accepted nuisance, a part of the territory; A lingering grain or two to drag you back. I miss waking up with the smell of last night's faded fire.
Some weird and wonderful memories of my teenage years.
100 points if you catch the Derek Mahon reference.