I am not reading poetry.
I am cupping the words
in my hands, pouring them
over my head, rubbing them
through my skin, into my bones
breathing in
breathing out

becoming a poem

I come from sunlight,
      The sweeping of leaves,
      South London streets,
      Lurburnum seeds;
      Hot semolina,
      A spoonful of jam,
      Hands full of gooseberries,
      That's who I am.

      I come from rose petals,
      The sound of the fairs,
      The smell of candyfloss
      Mist in the air;
      I come from warmth,
      My parents hands,
      Outings to parks,
      Both small and grand.

     I come from knowledge,
     True and false,
     From nursery rhymes,
     And stories and pictures of God;
     I come from gentleness,
     A quiet afternoon,
     From visions of loveliness,
     Sewn on a spool.

    I come from two worlds,
    With different ways,
    A threaded pearl necklace,
    And sensible soles
    A mother and father,
    I think I knew,
    I came and I wandered,
    I looked at the view.

       By Mary **

A sweltering run through the pastoral streets
Past the chemical plant and decrepit machinery
A couple miles trekked for nature's delicious treats
Incardine specks and black dots poke through thick greenery

Step over the ditch into the smokey mud
Stick your hand in carefully, the cost just a little blood

A blackberry picked from the protective thorn
is sweeter than one picked from the grocery store

Cicadas contribute to the silence
With their impious reproductive racket
A cloud of whistles, whirrs, buzzes, and clicks
In the otherwise still and stiller noon

An old man rests his shovel and himself
And sits in the flickering shade awhile
To think of nothing while sweet incense rises
Up from the sacred bowl of his Peterson’s pipe

The Eternal breathes silently over all
(Them cicadas sure is noisy, though)

The battery is dying out
So I leave my phone in the other room
Voices fade to mumbles as I walk out
Just the kitchen floor creaking now
The door shuts after you slip out
Take the water glass from my hand
Lean against the fridge while it fills

We should stay here for a lil
They'll never notice or care
Just you, me, and the water we'll share

I lean my elbow on the cold counter
I dent his confidence with my stare
He breaks my heart with his tongue

Well baby then I'm leaving
A kiss on the cheek is no fun
I'll see you sometime later if you want

My eyes fall as he brushes past
Carelessly hands me the water glass
It splashes on my t-shirt
I watch the drops soak in quickly
They'll dry out eventually
I go back and join the crowd
A house party no longer as loud

Thoughts thru the  Chalks
On the ******* Board
Fear Engulfs
The Duster comes again
And does what it does best.

Another sunset.

Another day of wondering if life is worth living.

Another hour contemplating the end of me.

I find myself so conflicted,
Yet very much at peace.

Serene.

In moments like these death feels like a promise from a loved one.

A beautiful promise one would hold close to one’s heart.

It feels like “I miss you” that actually means something.

For once, I am no longer angry.

For once, I feel alive.

How ironic.

Not numb,

Not lonely,

Not suffering,
But at one with the universe.

Of course life is a blessing and it is beautiful,
But I think I’m just one of those people, who were simply not made for it.

I hope I’m not scaring you with my words,
That is not my intention.

Goodbye Darling,
Perhaps we will meet again in another world.