agapanthus globe

flower-1398785_1280
pixabay image

 

Inverted in space,

suspended in the north

with a southerly persuasion,

my heart grown in two,

homes.

 

Bejewelled moments

I want to break off to keep,

but my weeping hands

sift the fractures in wrong places.

 

I hold on instead –

ached to this perfect petal,

floated away on familiar

rivered Breeze.

 

originally posted 30th Jan, 2017

auto cortex (ode to auto correct)

IMG_20160901_211955345.jpg

it’s in the title

or it isn’t

I probably meant that

or I didn’t.

am I awake now

or I’m isn’t.

did I mean that

no you didn’t.

where’s the pilot

don’t look closely

but we want that

Process?

or

It

Will?

Only

You

Can

Decide

When…

(please stop eating everything.)

 

this was written after a chat with Tony Single. Thanks for the encouragement Tony!

 

galimatias?

that gibberish you wrote
on that napkin

if you folded it into a swan
or some other kind of origami

(the process of which
eludes and/or evades me),

then maybe we would get somewhere close

to replicating?

encapsulating?

elucidating?

the mysterious grasp
of sentimentality…

 

 

(published March 1st)

 

 

he didn’t look up

IMG_20170521_221243_588


he was afraid

the tenacious unspoken
in a thousand fragments
would crash down on him.

he was amazed the trees
were not bowed from the weight
of that thing they couldn’t say

and he remembered that song…

he looked up at the changing of the colours to paradox –
now weightless.

it would be the paper cuts

 

inversely stack shaped (take two)

An old one, but a favourite. And I’m feeling a little old today.

~

old-photos-089

I always thought
I could stack up my regrets
and one day

I’d dig out that really helpful ‘ten steps to freaking whatever’ instruction manual

and while holding it in one hand
kick the stack over

into the wind.

What a gorgeous day…
this self sufficiency shit really works.

But that’s my parallel universe.

I so love it there.

I ponder it
from the bottom of this deep hole my regrets
have dug…

 

for Melissa

harmonica dream

swirling and seen

as we drift into sleep.

 

so long in the past

our impressions were cast

our friendship to keep.

 

our young minds so moved

the lyrics manoeuvred

to capture the steep

 

rise and the fall

of broken hearts’ call

the standing that’s reaped.

~

Thirty years on

our friendship, blessed, strong

lament’s aura seeps

still,

into sympathetic hearts

joined forever.

~*~

For dear Melissa, my friend from high school, the times we fell asleep to this gorgeous song. (I was so tempted, Mel, to write, “manooved” in the poem 🙂 )

And to those who struggle with serious addiction. My heart is filled with empathy ❤