Category: Poetry

forget you (k)nots

(originally posted Dec 2016)

~

 

attempts to alienate confusion

decaf, a necessary intrusion

I miss you.

 

float me past the contusions

the knots in my shadow crave fusion

I spill you.

 

the fragments in frosty perfection

arranging the shards of reflection

I see you.

 

memory’s space incandescing

cauterise weds convalescing

I place you.

 

the pieces not lifed in competing

the peace not in ice but the heating

tapestried sensed in the meeting

I love you.

 

 

 

Drenched… (revisited)

 

in lost.

 

Willing sacrifice

to the haunting of nature’s

ephemeral linguistics,

so lovingly stripping

mind’s creases,

ribboned into staff –

the soft landing place for notes

beloved by two

abstractly wooded dreams.

Spring shoes of eucalypt scent

skipping through snow

and leaving imprints

I don’t want to follow home…

(PS. this video is mesmerising in full screen)

anti-bio resistance

 

“Your iron is low, oh so low,

just take this supplement, it will help the tempo

because you’re not losing weight as your thyroid is slow,

so if you just lose some weight, you’ll help yourself glow

with vitality, and something else French sounding…”

no, wait, that was my mind screeching

to a day dreaming side step

and I have a few questions now, about the sound of us pretending
we have the time matching
this fee that you’re charging
to “bedazzle” me with reasoning
cyclical
while just reading something
from the back

of a sample drug pack

 

“why is my iron low?

Is it because of my liver, that it just doesn’t know

that my thyroid is struggling

with what doesn’t grow

our minds and our spirits,

and I would go on

 

but I’m tired”

 

 

it’s time to sleep

the reckoning and the reasoning and the ripening and then the sneezing

the forces unmeasured in the revolt and then the squeezing

of the music into lifelines that drip with hoped unheeding

and she’s covering her ears so no one sees the internal bleeding

with the streams of the thoughts she cannot appropriate

and the dreams and the oughts that she cannot estimate

within her fevered running soul that’s forgotten where it’s been

the itching of the scratch is not at all what they said it’d seem

and she holds the words in front of her in hands that shake with dread

they’re in her own heart language but unrecognized instead

in their current configuration that has come from somewhere other

and if only she could sleep now…

 

 

 

He was on his knees

rowing around her,

tears pleading,

she floating,

her lips silently

moving

composing her symphony and compiling literary

moments he was desperate to understand

the ache to the point of unbearing

but she knew he just needed help hearing/hearting/breathing…

she ever so gently

throws the life ring

 

 

(How perfect you are, o purveyor of artist’s soundless voice
to express my utter bewilderment at humans’ flailing choice-
s…)

grey metal hammer
Photo by Pixabay on Pexels.com

 

No, you are not a divinely appointed player

to use and discard “toys” as you see fit

the creative souls in cyber land

to pluck as you cry, “I quit”

while winking at another

fingers crossed behind your back

be creative with your score card –

notches? or marks scrawled in black?

 

O precious souls so broken,

your self worth is left in tatters

I know you crave deep healing

but this is not what matters –

 

to be “chosen” by a phantom

when your worth is beyond their sight

you matter just in being,

their attention – darkest night.

 

Take the hands of those who care now

the lifelines that they offer

protecting pride is useless

when it’s safety that they proffer.

 

Humans, look what we do

when we confuse the tools we need

 

to really see each other…

 

 

skein

And while she was

clawing out

the sub conscious ponderings

on definition a, b or c

of her defeated-ness,

she saw their labyrinthine thread

had finally severed.

 

Her heart stilled,

begging for calibration,

a gentle reworking –

the intricate cut-outs of their pain

into simple shapes.

 

(this beautiful song, and video of estranged brothers reunited)

Scrambling…

say no to clowns

through her mind’s thesaurus

she searched for other words for her wrists, singed

her edges smouldering, smoke fringed

internal edges, that is.

Scrambling through the messages in his eyes

he finds the one he wants to send her, hopefully

she’ll read it without doubt, earnestly

not doubting him, that is.

The other he, she should be doubting

he holds that glass, sun’s rays re routing

to warm her, that is

what he’s always told her…

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orchid 2
your music
velveting through my mind
into that past

I always loved road trips

but I can’t make out the
lyrics anymore
I’m too busy with my new
thing

looking through flowers

knitting season

 

This slideshow requires JavaScript.

 

the air has turned cold.
my thoughts turning, unfold
and you turn,

as I’m tugging
on the ontological thread
that glistens in the tread
of your psyche.

the air has turned night
and this thread
warms me alive.

 

(Marble image and wedding image from Pexels.com)

 

low light photo of opened book
Photo by Pixabay on Pexels.com

 

rightly

and wrongly, adroitly

and strongly, we

belong but perfectly

in weakly

 

O poor Heart

lay your weary ears down

and tilt emptied ducts

to be awash with Inchoate

and swell with a different song

 

 

 

 

POETRY FROM THE LADIES

So Nigel, has done a lovely thing of reading a few poems, including a couple of mine, to honour the contribution to the poetry world by women poets. I love how he does his readings, and feel moved to be a part of this beautiful post (with a dignified giggle at the end 🙂 )

VOICES OF A HIDDEN SELF

My dear friends, I have today for your delectation something rather special. It struck me how many wonderful, famous and celebrated poets are women compared to say artists in the world of painting.

This is something I’ve also noticed within our own circle, and so I feel both honoured & privileged to have been given permission by the following poets to recite their work. Below is just a small sample of the amazing art to be found and enjoyed.

If you’ve a favourite piece you’d like read I’m always looking to expand my ‘Alchemists of word’ section. Don’t be shy or humble for I’m not a critic or academic, just someone who loves the written word.

VIKTORIA AT    MY BLEEDING WORDS

Ashes Ashes – by Viktoria

The dimming cinders of my spirit

Lay glowing feebly in the night

The smoke escaped my every merit

The arsonist: life’s pain and…

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