Your love lingers inside me
intangibly
like mulling spices
in an empty jar.

I counted  the clock
as I watched the small hand slowly tick by

I stared off into space
as I watched the weather change from sunny to Grey-
blurring my vision as my mind drifted away...

Something in the air told me to be still-  listen & wait

but if I'd of known on this day
you'd do the unthinkable so intangibly-
I well I don't know what I'd of done....

I haven't eaten since you left
I hardly slept since I found you gone...

Hard to think as I sit at my dinning table
watching out my bay window as children laugh & play.

I heard a dog bark and watched a girl playing with her hula-hoop

I sit as tears run down my face thinking are you eating are you safe?

Why now would you think to leave
when everything you wanted
is right in front of you?

Is that person you ran to worth
the pain your causing me?

What can you be thinking ?

As I sit hear with my elbows on this table,
head bent low & my hands in my hair.

I hear a knock & my heart skips a beat, butterflies flutter in the pit of my stomach...

That lil girl with her hula-hoop tapped my window and smiles (I thought it was you)


I smile right back but all  I see is you- in my mind
I see you with your tiny hands, your wrapped in blankets,
leaves of many colors  fall down from above as we sat in  Elizabeth Park
me reading  Winnie The Pooh  to you.

You at about 2- running with your very first kite  
saying looky momma look "it fly'ing"...

As you ran you tripped stubbled & fell  sadly your kite flew away...
I chases it but I couldn't reach it in time....
You look up with tears & it breaks my heart I didn't catch your kite
so I cry too and you say to me momma it OK.

I see in my mind you  at 4 laughing with your sister - you both hold hand
twirling round & round in circles   until you fall down giggling all the while.

I wonder where is that smile of yours now?

Where's the laughter & feelings you had way back then?

My tears are overflow- spilling on this dinning table...

I look up and watch
the tiny red hand on the clock tick, tick, tick on by,
it's the only sound in my house.

Your sisters outside playing with their friends
as  I sit watching out the window& all I see is the many blended
children whom now look all
like you- running, laughing, playing...

Being free to be them selves & all I can do is long to have you home for once.
No picture is gonna help
because you've left me watching, waiting once more,
I  been here all this time doing what I seem to continuously do which is
Watch As Time Flys By!
Always Me Ayeshah

It just hurts.

I feel like nothing
no numb or pain
or rush to leave
I'm nothing;
intangibly here.

Listless
and restless
like the smoke
evanescing from
depleted lungs.

Omnipresent
consumption
constantly pressures
my mind.
My thoughts
compress my body.
I can feel them
crawling up my throat
strangling me.
I'm lost
in muted asphyxiation.

I'm always high now
pills or ****
alcohol or pills
it's not for the thrill
somehow
anymore.
Yet, I'm
always clambering
to get higher.
Reaching further
too high
too far
I'm gonna burn in the stars
and wash up
like the sky
on the shore.

There are
traces of love
diverged in
this outer space.
But who do the stars favor
if they're
indigenous to night?
To adore the Moon
and his
myriads of
wavering light?
When I'm
in love with the Sun,
his devoted passion
and dynamic love.
But the Earth...
he keeps me grounded
and we
don't even speak,
he's the dream
that keeps me up
at night
the tongue in my cheek.

Of all the
astral bodies
She
owns what's left
of my heart.
She's a void
a frozen star.
I'm sure
she knows
the distance I'd go
to maintain
our gravity.
Forgive her for
every
stolen star
don't question why
she became a
black hole
though I'm quite sure
she doesn't even know.

Every time I set pen to paper
I am struck with the vastness
of the world that I am entering.
Sometimes I stand on the brink, unwilling
to hurl myself over the edge of
what has already been made
into the long dark of uncreated
nebulae and whispers of
story that run through
my fingertips as intangibly as
starlight from above.
The possibilities are endless. It's true.
And the sheer immensity of creating -
such a lost, divine, and yet
most common art -
it pushes me backwards with
hands given substance by
nothing more (and nothing less)
than my own mind.

Is it hubris to create?
Miserable makers are we,
unfit to be gods
of anything, let alone the
vast, untamed beauties
which ramble in that long
and undivided brightness
of imagination.
We are unworthy all,
and I most of all;
the hand that spells out majesty
has broken heartstrings,
plucking at them
day by day
and clutching at the tattered ends
when at last they failed.

Yet still the world of what could be
expands like stars in space,
every time I step up to the
portal of that world
(the unmarked page).
What is this gift, this mystery?

To write love and darkness,
joy in misery,
these hands - this ****** ink of mine -
is able still.

Grace.

The word should be
blank,
when this hand tries to write it.
And yet the ink still flows
and forms the shape,
a living testimony
of itself.

So here I stand, one small pen
in hand, like a bucket meant
to catch an ocean of rain.
And my inevitable failure
is somehow
still,
an overflowing success.

One moment of that other world captured is enough
to stir the hearts of men,
and turn them from their gold to things above.

Seems the time has fled like rain
My dear friend vanished too,
Vanished to the gossamer
Just dissipated through…..
One day here, gone the next
No words allaying cost,
Dismissal to the mists of time
Intangibly, just lost.

Your final poem posted
Instilling vibrant air
Of remorseless, sharp reminder
Of a vacuum hanging there.
A suspension of all feeling,
Of warmth and care and touch
The absence of your sunlit mirth
And laughter, loved so much.

A sadness hangs in silent  throng
And saddened voices sing
In wreaths of trite redemption
Which angry tears do bring.

But should you have a change of heart
One early, misty morn
To once again put pen to prose
To once again, adorn.....
Replete, shall be this simple soul,
Replete again to dwell,
To once once again devour your words
Forsaking forlorn Hell.

M.
Foxglove, Taranaki NZ
2 November 2021