double bed blues

I am half
a less than generous portion
laying between
these distant edges
awashed and lost within
an ocean of Egyptian cotton
but sometimes in peaceful nights
before I embrace my dreams
I look to my left and
imagine it filled with a sleepy smile
and eyes that hold a key
to dispersing the shadows
that surround me

art

we wander halls
surrounded by Rembrandt and Vermeer
I watch you laugh
at the fools encasing Gogh's pain
within Facebook selfies
yearning for loves and likes
then caught by an old sunrise
I turn and see the brush strokes in your hair
and those varnished lips
that frame your smile
of all the works of art
in this world
for me
in that moment
there was only one

the paper defence

you only have to
touch my armour
and it disappears
you only have to
whisper my name
and I will kneel
in defeat
all that I would
fight and die for
lays like dry parchment
in your palm
you only have to
close it
and I am dust

the love note

the pen

traces the words

on my lips

the paper becomes a witness

your eyes my judge

your heart my jury

pieces

my heart

was broken

your hands

were all that held it

together

in this heart

there are tears here
and laughter that still hurts my sides.
there is my daughter's voice
and my son's infectious laugh.
there's a first love,
found in a school disco;
as blondie talked about hearts of glass.
in the shadows there are goodbyes,
some final,
all painful.
but there are fresh first kisses here too
and stale drunken promises
that were broken before they were spoken.
I have a thousand and one faces
from twenty thousand days.
there are places torn from context
and buried in the amber of time.
half forgotten jokes
and fragments of memories,
that twist themselves
into my dreams like knives.
but this heart knows me
better than I know myself.
for when I am weighed down
by doubt or loneliness.
it reminds me that there is still space to fill
and the time to fill it.

my lament

she was my mother.
as a child I recall
her dressing me
and brushing my hair before school.
she even flattened a cowlick once
with the quick lick of her thumb.
there was always food on my plate
and a warm bed.
christmas was pillow cases full of toys
and easter was a wall of chocolcate eggs.
I used to sneak into their bedroom some nights
and sleep between them.
my mum.
my dad.
he is gone now.
reduced to ashes in a box.
whilst she just sits there.
her mind wiped of memories.
her stare empty of recognition.
one is dead.
one is missing.
but both are gone.

what they changed in me

for one I became a vegetarian
for one I prostituted my soul
for one I abandoned mozart
for one I moved over to the right side of the bed
for one I lost weight
for one I started learning a new language
for one I started watching soaps
for one I become a catholic
but I am fucked if I know
what they changed for me.

when I am gone

I am a shadow now,
a faded signature in a
birthday card I gave you
when you were eight.
my voice is thrown into your past,
faintly heard but indistinguishable.
yet one day
memories will surface,
triggered by deadpool
or brides with samurai swords.
then you'll hear me again
and as you tell these old stories
to a generation I will never know,
that aspect of your eye
that holds our history
will hold us both again.
I will watch you as you talk about me
and smile as you paint my flesh to bones.
then when these tales are told
and you start to pack them away,
I will step closer and remind you
of what binds you to me
and me to you.

everything in life dissolves, Frances.

everything but love.



(For my Niece)

dust

end this
before fire consumes
my world.
end this
before time unravels
within my empty spaces.
end this
before my mind
unfolds logic
within the infinity
of a single choice.

end this.
end it now.

and let the dust of time
hide it from us both.