Love Stamp

You walked right through me,

muscle and bone.

Left your silhouette in my heart-zone.

Now all it is

is a cut-out of you.

A heart-shaped keyhole
love once looked through.

The Empty Place That's You.

When you want to escape,

but there's nowhere to go.

You are your own home.

With shattered windows,

kicked in doors.

Empty halls.

There's no running away,

from what you are.
Here, let me give you a spray-can,
so you can spray pain.

Ol' Boy Sirius

Born under a star,

with an unfortunate sense of direction.

Meant to guide me,

mongrel led me astray!

Wild-goose chase.

I followed my dreams,

lost sight,

found doubt.

Wore that as a mantle for a bit.

To keep the cold in,

and the world at bay.

Canis Major pain in my arse!

Give that damn star a bone.

 

Tra La La

There comes a point,

when you can't continue.

Destination's the same,

but you are not.

One step more,

For the hell of it.

Basket in your hand,

Tra la la.

 

 

Poke the Hole

Loneliness,

is a painful hole.

Unfulfilled,

in the centre of you.

Dug by others.

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

Destiny Tripped

I stumbled on the fault in my stars,

on my step.

Fell out of love the wrong way.

Slowly,

then all at once,

Destiny tripped.

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

Marital Bliss

Dear Wife, you're a cheater.

An alcoholic.

Incompetent,

at best a joke.

I'm your lover,

and your friend.

By your side until the end.

Doesn't matter,

any more,

you're a stupid, fucking whore.

I didn’t mean it,

to act that way,

it just happened what can I–

Say nothing!

You're dead to me,

What does that mean?

We're stuck together.

For the kids?

Until their grown.

Then you'll leave?

That seed, you've sown,

with your thighs,

with your lies.

We are what we reap, Husband Dear!

 

Out of my Misery

You put me down,

like a dog.

When I ask if you love me,

Cat's got your tongue.

All the pain you cause me?

For my benefit!

The ache in my heart belongs to you.

My misdeeds, your soap box.

Always, I strive to get it right.

But how can I?

When what I am,

is always wrong.

Suicide Selfie

Face grave.

Eyes dead.

Smile false.

Days numbered.

Click!

 

Like a Switch

Like a switch,

I turn people off.

The light that torches the moth.

The scratch that is the itch.

Pleased to delete you,

That's me.

 

The Young Martyr

I am The Martyr,

Not Rose, Adelaide, Heather.

Such names, too sweet,

For what Mr Delaroche planned for me.

For you, dear gazer!

Oh why, dear Creator?

How do you sketch so carefully?

Hum and haw as you choose your palette,

perfecting my plight with each brush stroke!

I drown!

Why? Why?

How did my youth, my beauty, my innocence conspire!

Inspire you to such tyranny?

Free me!

Paint away my bonds!

Dry the water with your oily rag!

Paint me into safety like the rest!

Like Le Brun, her own daughter!

Home again, close to my hearth and dearest!

Can a child not ask this of her father?

But I see, it is the critic's voice alone you listen to.

You paint me dead for their applause!

I am your Martyr then,

Bearer of your cursed halo!

Look at me! You can't turn away can you?

Not when you tremble with pride and God's own fervour!

It appears, Gentlemen, my death serves you both better than my life.

 

Wasteland

It's sunny out, despite my face,

despite the waste.

Land of misery and twisted fate,

that is my skin from eye to chin.

Face, a salted ground.

Misery!

Pain that anyone could see,

despite the sun and warm spring breeze,

despite the flowers and bumblebees.

Warm to touch but cold within,

That's the wasted land my heart dwells in.

Bright and quick my smile might be,

but it's lying like the rest of me,

In the waste land of my life.

A grave filled with sunlight –

covered in flowers, adorned with grass.

A place to share a picnic.

But underneath that skin and bone, that pretty face, and happy home

lies a dark and lonely place.

A land of emptiness and waste.

A private hell that no-one sees,

built by devils and fantasies.

Of angels,

hopes, and endless need.

Which never grow outside the skin,

or see the light, or let it in.

And never will.

And never will.

For nothing grows in misery.

A wasted land

A land of waste

Final resting place.

 

Ink Scratch

Ink scratch –

sound laid upon the page,

taught since first grade.

Words cooped up,

locked away.

Read them aloud!
Sound!

Fox in the hen house!

Words with unclipped wings take to the air.

To live,

escape the cage.

Until turn of page.

Dark Turn

Here we lie, that bend and I,

moon haunts us either side.

Scorn its light!

Scorn sight!

Fuck sound, too!

Dictators!

How, they claw at me –

destroy the hard labour of my breath,

fill me with startled glances!

Bring stiffness to both back and neck.

Why breath now?

To clear the lungs and resuscitate my mind?

For the good of me?

Forced to face my dread.

Not now, I can't now!

Not when every creature of the night has come on bended knee to me,

offered me their silence,

amplified my footsteps.

I don't care!

On bended knee they come to me!

But for what?

To watch me go around the bend,

and take the dark turn?

And reach my end?

Or discover the power of surrender, once again? For them?

For me?

Oh destiny! Why must you curl your hook so deeply into me.

Around the bend I go!

 

Colour

Hungry?

Then look,

See!

Close your mouth!

Forget your tongue.

It's with your eyes you eat me!

 

The Contented Road

In every town you'll find me –

sprawled, cluttered, empty, straight.

Way that ties the world.

Uninvited guest beneath crusades and pilgrim's knees,

bearer of the hearse and slow steps that follow.

Resting place of parting tears.

Escape and the way home,

I am the journey others take –

I am the road.

 

Something Out of Nothing

How can something appear from nothing?

There is no ink here.

No page to write upon.

No place in existence where this message is.

But yet?

Here it is, beneath your eyes.

In your brain.

Gift from Google!

Creation works the same.

No blocks.

No space.

Search unlimited!

 

Love Story

In Love, I am the mountain,

Broody, insurmountable,

surrounded by the sea.

A mystery, everyone says, what fortunate soul might conquer her?

Who would dare?

Truth be told, dying to be overwhelmed, I softened my edges, allowed pride to crumble.

I became vulnerable, ready, willing to be worn down by the sea, as is right.

Alas, exposed, below me, my conqueror did not rise.

My Sea, my lover, remained unstirred –

Uniformly void of spume, of thunderous roar - of obsession.

Like a glass eye viewing a masterpiece, he was equally oblivious to me.

Behold, how even my shadow lays listless upon him, could he not, at the very least, stir that!

I ask, O Lover, where is your passion?

Where is your desire to drag me beneath you!

Curse your tranquillity!

If still waters run deep, then I declare you fathomless!

Sailors call you traitor!

The wind grows tired of you!

And so do I!

O how you have brought the lofty low.

Made miserable with the longing to be wanted.

Why do you stay if you have no desire to take?

What storms have forgotten you in my wake?

Abandoned you to my shores!

I, the Mountain, it seems, must crumble down into your depths and carry you away!

Why is it that I must hammer against you!

Its not fair!

Its shameful!

O Sea, why don't you beat against me, consume me, drag me beneath you.

Like the other waters do, to the other mountains.

Leave me dry!

Leave me be!

But do not leave me to beat myself to sand.

Do not have me reduce myself to sparkles on a distant shore.

Its your duty done, yes, well executed to be sure, but far from the bard's pretty telling.

That is too cruel,

even for you.

Salty, demon!

Made of my tears.

Why don't you want me?

O where is your passion?

I ask and I ask again, but you never answer!

Questions with no answers become riddles!

In love, I am the mountain,

Unwanted! Abandoned! Tormented!

A curse upon you! To heck with it!

I shall ask instead: Why do you stay?

True and steady as a clear blue sky, as close to me as the wind on my face,

holding my shadow.

Embracing me, where I touch you.

Because you love me?

Because you hate me?

Or is it sad mistake that leaves you lapping eternally at my stones?

 

A Rose by Any Other Name

Be watchful of the naming of things.
Word has power.
To take away, or make.
Like love!
The nameless manifested it, yet we dared name it.
Context lost!
Love! Here it is! Found!
Struck off its branch; an apple ripe for its first bite.
Yet, what we hold in our hand, is no longer that which grew on the tree.
No longer that which God knew.
Become now, a mystery to all.
Only we don't see it!
Blissfully ignorant to the facsimile made.
We turn it over, feel it in the palm – apple, apple, apple, we say – understood, catalogued, yet failure to see, that the fruit is now limited.
Blinded in understanding, the mystery is lost to the sweetness of the taste of apple.
Become sweetness and crunch, it can no longer grow beyond our comprehension.
Woe to you! Better that you had left it as presented! As offered!
How bold, how presumptuous! To declare the name of another’s offspring?
When meeting for the first time, is the finger pointed and one stranger declared by the other as to who he is?
Would it not, that we had waited for the stranger to reveal their own name! Would we not know him better then?
If we have named everything, and nothing named by itself, or its creator, how can it be, that we can claim knowledge of it?
A universe of mysteries transformed, lost, in becoming known.
God!
We have named him too, but ask, has he named himself?
He did not name his creations, created in his image. We named them!
That which another meticulously dreamt up, purposely fashioned, placed, yet, belovedly, limitlessly, left unnamed.
We named.
An artist's craftsmanship mistaken for indifference, an oversight, an omission, or at best the gift of freewill.
Such is the faith we place in the institution of naming and and being named.
Of claiming.
Listen! Take care if you would behold the truth!
Unname that which you have labelled!
Renounce your titles!
Seek no longer its name, rather, seek its entirety, its fluidity, the context of your first experience with it.
And for heaven's sake, ask yourself, what is apple?
Or better yet, what is Love?

 

Black Coffee

Ground down, 

Black.

Bitter.

Keeps you up at night.

Like you.

Ruins my taste.

Gives the shakes.

Grows cold.
Like you.

Mirror as I’m looking down,

clutched between my hands,

numb with heat.

Like you

Why can't I put you down?