love

This thing I see ahead

And so I turn a page and see
a future moment ahead of me:
a future memory of what’s in store,
of the past I have lived before.

There before my mind’s eye
I think about the time I die;
the moments I took without thought
and hard lessons that life me taught.

A distant time on a windy beach,
the sweet taste of a lover’s reach;
many moments encased in gold
sit in mind, wait to be told.

And on this page a picture bright
my face wrinkled with some fight;
yet the sound of my children’s voices
remembering I’ve made good choices.

But this is not the final page
upon which chance sets the stage:
I snap right back to this time
knowing, now, I’ve done just fine.

Difference

An idea, a thought
elusively gone
like so many lives
lost to conformity.
Difference is far off
like those memories:
a scatter cushion
faded red from the years
of indifference;
or that curious conversation
about the touch of a lover.
Time is almost still
but the shadows still move
yet this can’t be seen happening.

Why is this happening?
These thoughts?
What god?
What cruel creature
on Tuesday plays Candy Crush
yet on Wednesday breaks my heart?

Statistic

When you played me that song
that’s when I first knew
the ending was coming too soon
(going to come?)
A paper bag filled with popcorn
and fingers smelling of salt;
dilated pupils.
I sat in class listening to
a god’s voice telling me about our minds –
a public session with a professional;
but the seat next to me empty
except for a cut in the blue cushioned seat
shaped curiously like a question mark
(or was it an exclamation?)
The sun hurt my eyes as I sat in the traffic
but I could still see the car in front.
It’s only when water filled my eyes I knew
(before I got glasses the tears
welled and I could see again through them).
Prescriptions from Prof. Dr. Dr’s…
I just wish they’d prescribe me some rest.

Mendes 

He wants to hide with me 

in a tree-house of secrecy, 

cuddle into me 

and plant himself in my fertile soil.

He smells like wooden cologne 

and he holds me like he needs me:

up here we’re safe 

from shutters and flashes. 

It’s some kind of dream 

but I feel this like it’s real. 

Mendes, who are you? 

Why did you come? 

And why did we leave? 

Amber

Back and forth
Pendulums swinging;
Back and forth
Birds singing;
Back and forth
Bells a-ringing;
Back and forth
Prophesies saying.

Silver coins kiss his mind:
Betrayal awaits, so unkind.
Toxic thoughts: an acid rain
Shower down and make their stain.

Was there amber in the sky?
Behind the tree where Judas hung?
An oil painting filled with crimson dye?
And late sorrows on his tongue?

Back and forth
Trust broken;
Back and forth
Tears awoken;
Back and forth
Tombs reopen;
Back and forth
Truth has spoken.

Another Love Poem Inspired by Loss and Bitterness

You love it when I write you a sweet love poem,
but rage scarlet when I smash you like limestone
with my shiny words and these strange metaphors…
We fell like Icarus, hubris was the cause.
I saw your lusty list of your past lovers,
I was but one under your starched white covers.
Staring at the city with you – I felt whole.
Now I’m left with pepperminted loneliness and paracetamol.
How does it feel to be free from my millstone?
Read between these coloured-in rhymes: there lies my tone.
Now you’ll see me in the shadows of the full moon,
surreptitiously shining on your bed: we died too soon.

An Answer To A Question Posed

As he sits down at the bus stop
and glances at his watch –
a bus pulls up.
He looks: B4.
It’s familiar, he’s seen it before
but he knows it’s not his.
When will the bus come?
Will it?
Waiting… For a bus
that might not come.
Feet start tapping.
Sighs start escaping.
Patience starts flickering.
The wind blows,
papers fly.
A napkin, stained, flitters to his feet
like a butterfly learning to fly.
“Love needs faith”
written in black ink across one corner.
A bus suddenly pulls up.
The doors open.
A hand reaches out.
His smile reaches in.
He takes his hand.
Bus U5.

Butterflies

Sweet creation
flittering above the river &
between the overgrowth,
floating, naïve to these contemplations.
Explosions of noise on those fragile wings;
the air tastes of dark blue misery.
Yet you’re so peaceful
in the Garden of Eden
before the Fall of Man…
Before Man became man.
Come here, sweet beauty!
Stay a while.

No, don’t try escape my clasp!
Here, let me
tear
those wings off!
Let me tear up.
Death begets Life;
Life begets Death.

Fly now, sweet thing, fly now!