Beyond the sea, a white rose stands
outside a vase, away from hands.
Too pretty for a picture frame,
a large bouquet, or window pane.

Still growing, life is hers to gain:
the warmth of sun, the cooling rain,
the water droplets, oxygen;
beauty will flourish best with space.

A trademark warmth she wears so well
like sun rays on a daffodil.
She laughs like shamrock by the well,
as infectious as a breeze among bluebells.

I see the child inside your cries of joy, behind your smiles at boys.
Beneath the skies, above the noise.
You breathe in life, and it's all yours.

My heart is whole
but it has sharp edges.
It got wet on my sleeve;
now, it hangs from my necklace

-round like a pendant; hurt hangs
round my neck with a vengeance:
like a lighthouse on a dark night,
blinding sailors. It’s offensive.

It draws them near like a siren's call,
but the sky bleeds red at the first sign of morning.
The captain is certain he'll lock land at dawn,
but does any siren ever sing a song without a warning?

I saw a glimpse of heaven on an old park bench
but you said the location didn't make much sense
and struggled to see the beauty of all the falling leaves,
so I sighed, and got up, asking if we should leave.

I don't have the time of day
to beg for pardon 'til you stay,
to get down on my knees and pray;
for it to rain, just all the same.

I don't have the trust in you.
You choose comfort, I choose new.
You'll hear it once, you swear it true:
the sky rains black; you're sure it's blue.

It's just like paint, a blood-red heart,
a colour sample on a chart;
I'll build an abstract sculpture, craft
it carefully and call it art.

Then, I'll sell all that I create
and save enough to walk away,
whilst you're left dripping wet with rain.
Whatever made you think I'd wait?

I'll draw the line, it's too far gone,
predictable like dot to dot
to map these problems out again.
Our criminality self-made,

insufferable, ill-timed, insane;
all but an ounce of pride to gain.
Though, guaranteed to cut a loss,
we'll kid ourselves it's worth the cost

for half a gram of happiness,
with half of that stuck on the desk.
We've only got a quarter left:
it's all to play for, do your best.

I much prefer it when it rains;
theres much less pressure on the day.
It makes me feel like it's alright,
to waste a day alone inside

and wrap myself up in a blanket,
shut out the world. To be quite frank it
hardly makes a lot of sense;
sometimes, I just don't help myself.

Look far and wide for some excuse,
roll left and right, avoid the truth;
rip it all up to start anew,
as often, restless minds will do.

I stopped waiting for letters which never arrived;
when it started costing me minute per mile;
per smile;
per song that I'd skip for a while.
Making it rain with my valuable time
-wearing a coat in the summer time.

Stopped avoiding my postbox,
to the relief of my landlord,
and happily paid the bills so long ignored.
Drank less, ate more,
much more- self-assured
with one less page in my passport.

I stopped "letting you know,"
popping up,
"just to say hello,"
and "wondering if you fancied coming
or going
to some place relatively unknown."

Cleaned out my head;
cleared out my lungs;
wrote once again, for myself, just for fun;
listened to every song on the album;
all whilst lying naked
underneath the summer sun.

You were my sunshine,
my only sunshine;
since, you set behind the hills of time,
I
have finally seen the beauty in moonlight.

He's cherry liqueur,
keeps his cards face-down,
sweet enough to be a sweet
but still a little bit sour.
Deep, dark thinker
but not one to wear a frown
and so he puts me in my place
from the inside out.

I'm anti-attachment
and I cant help that
I'm a hardback book bound tight-
Always on the rewrite
every word placed right
because it's so important;
that you read me right;
that you see things right;
undress your mind for me
under the right light
because
God above
I don't want tears tonight
if I tell you it's not serious
or when I make you work or wait
it's obviously worth the work
and even more than worth your wait.
I don't like games
I play it straight;
you're either with it
or you ain't.
So if you do not like the blurb
don't bother reading my first page.

Red wine stains your lips and teeth,
reciting Tolstoy; war and peace,
smoke leaves your lips  each word you speak
-as if it was, somehow, for me.

A dwindling old lover's flame;
we lay warm on a bed of coal.
Beneath the sheets, I've seen your face,
but every time your hands were cold.

She smells soft
and fresh like life after rain
but she's bound too tight,
too hard to touch,
and she squirms when you call her name.

She's got that fallen angel face.
Her pieces all fit into place,
have patience, if you wish to wait.
Free spirits float free from leaden weight.

I can live without you.
In fact, I might be happy to
sit and eat ice-cream all alone,
whilst basking in a sunlit dawn-
a wonderland for one.

I'm told I'm bad at lying,
all too often I say too much.
When I get sick of trying
I find I flick from on to off.

The warmest smile can quickly turn
into an icy state;
in eyes which swore they knew you
-you will find there's no one there.

I'd love just like a waterfall
with no fear of running out;
'til from my eyes water would fall
like raindrops in a drought.

Now, the most inclusive laughter
slows right down to a flickering glance.
Fuses cut short
after weathering storms
and we dont know
how long
they will last.

Recoiling in a lover's arms,
I stare out through steamy glass
and find my peace among the stars.
Cold, but still I melt his heart.

I hear music through the walls,
never once said I'd break your fall.
I'm sorry. Though, I'd never ask
that you should hit the ground so hard.

Nor that you should fall at all.
Control yourself- you know the rules.
You don't know me; I don't know you.
Please act your age, don't act the fool.

And still with hopeless puppy eyes
they laugh to me with loving smiles.
This is a game and I'm your prize-
stop thinking I'll be yours in white.

I'm not here to connect with you,
I'm only here to get with you.
Please, this is not a union.
I'm using you; please, use me too.

Away with knocking on my heart.
I'll lick your fingers clean to start
then nibble on your ear for main.
Friend, love and lust are not the same.

Though we are both but hearts alone,
it's not your heart that makes me moan.
Reciting rules to men full grown:
if you should fall, you'll fall alone.

I wonder if you're loving someone else.
Before I remember
that you're no good at loving,
unless it's for yourself.

The light breaks in past a bamboo vine
and refracts into marvellous blue.
The air stands as still as the sun shines,
while the birds chirp their favourite tune.

I float to the top of the path and I sit,
carried by freshwater currents.
With air in my veins, I breathe in
and forget each, every one of my troubles.

My eyelids close like petals
moved on by the breeze.
I feel the light warm on my face;
although, I cannot see it.

Hair long and dark like a silken night,
her eyes glazed over, lips pastel silent.
Every so often sips a cold long island,
no jazz musician but her feet tap in time and
she's skin like China, won't crack even for a smile.
While people try to please her she will only check the time and
she's not a people pleaser for she'll bore within a while.
Perfume carried by the breeze,
she's freezing, smoking outside.
Her cheeks are apple red but her eyes, quitely tired.
She claims your jokes are dead and then she'll laugh like bitter cider-
a bittersweet pink lady brought to life beneath the night's limelight
the apple of the eye of every single man in sight

He'll ask her if she knows this song
and she replies 'no, not tonight.'
He'll ask if she enjoys herself.
Blankly, she says 'yes, quite.'

The room a-brim with deep jazz sounds:
she sings sweet melodies aloud,
she sways as if no one's around,
she sighs, it doesn't make a sound.

your footprint is still on my floor,
beer bottles stand still on my table
I won't ever see you again but
we rely on the kindness of strangers

I loved til I was black and blue
without much right or reason to.
I loved you soft like morning dew.
You'll fool me once but never two.

I go off on a power trip;
sometimes I won't even notice it.
Like a train on the track at full speed
unaware that some people get motion sick.

Cover up the mirrors and I'll find somewhere to look,
rip me into pieces like the pages of an old notebook,
smudge me into ink stains, stick a needle in my eye,
scribble over my mistakes and cross me out with lines.

Turn me inside out to wash and
hang me out to dry,
drown me in a dried up lake
and cool me down by fire,

spit me out like sour grapes,
then leave me like an ageing wine,
just now, I've quite the bitter taste
but I still need a little time.