It is not natural…
Monogamy is man made
But so are cell phones

Tap..scroll..pause
Trolling through your feed
Passively absorbing uselessness
As if a vital need.

Tap..scroll..pause
It’s someone you used to know
You analyse another’s life
From what they choose to show.

Tap..tap..tap
As you seek your validation
Putting your best self on show
The ‘likes’ now your fixation.

Tick..tick..tock
As you wait for a reply
For a ‘friend’ to reach their own short pause
In their tap, scroll, pause then die.

Standing tall and green
Takes pride of place.

Small hands hang precious *****,
Larger hands hang fragile ones,
To appease the critical eye.

Lights twinkle, turned on at twilight
A star adorns the top, a little lopsided
As it is just slightly out of reach to fix.

Boxed and wrapped hopes are piled underneath,
Perfectly presented with a bow
Ready to be torn in the big unveil.

The big day comes and then it goes,
As does each day- significant or not.
The lights do not get turned on now.

The star is more lopsided as the tree droops,
Taking pride of place the yellowing leaves,
Once lush and green, now sully the spirit.

Until, it is discarded on the nature strip.
Just another piece of junk- ready to be replaced.

A poet’s tears run down the internal wall
..until..
they all spill out in a puddle on the floor.

An ugly, unsightly mess
..until..
someone comes along to gently mop it away.

But a leak, however silent, is still a leak
..until..
it is a flood that can no longer be controlled.

A poet’s tears run down the internal wall
..until..
the wall cracks under pressure and we all drown in the words.

She holds her head so high that
she stands tall at 5 foot 2.
Demanding you turn your head
as her perfume clouds you with
an air of importance.

Long nails clutch a compendium,
painted bold so they can’t be missed.
She walks with purpose
and a satisfying click of
court shoe on tile.

She stands out in the crowd
commanding your respect.
The march of a confident woman
full of grace and poise but
with nothing behind the eyes.

The roots are drinking from my veins
A trunk is bursting free
Feeding on my darkest thoughts,
A sordid, twisted tree.

Its thirst, it is insatiable
Taking more than it could need
Forcing me to pour more out,
It grows from what I bleed.

The branches twist and tangle
They block out the little light
The roots grow claws and clutch my soul,
Banishing me to the night.

The wood, now dark and knotted
Though in the past it drew you in
It’s now disfigured by the toxins,
Fuelled by my mind’s poison.

There’s a woman with scraggly hair, very thin, very wobbly on her feet, she always leans a little- life beaten.

On her good days she carries her bright purse, contents toppling as she sways and moves about a lot- we give her a wide berth.

On her bad days she moves less, but yells more at the passers by- the berth we give is wider then.

She always wears a summer dress with thin straps- In winter I think she must be cold. In summer I wonder about sunscreen.

The other day I saw her at the supermarket buying groceries. I had never seen her in there before, such a normal environment. I felt a little proud of her. I thought I probably wasn’t supposed to feel that way so I looked away instead of smiling.-Then I felt awkward for not smiling and left quickly.

Today I saw her again teetering on her feet and yelling and I wondered where it was that she stored those groceries.

I tried not to stare and then felt ashamed for turning away.

So preoccupied, I’ve been with invading another’s privacy.