retired

I miss being a dad
I miss the loaded nappies
the first words
the first steps
the endless hugs wrapped in love
the colds and teething
the first day at school
the nights when they need you
and the moments when they pretend they don't
I miss the crayons and the "my dad" pictures
I miss the soldiers and the dolls
I miss the xmas eves
and the ransacked easter eggs
I miss it all
I want it back

I miss being a dad

old books

new pages turn
old wisdom is lost
under the weight
the pictures
the emails
the texts
the voices
the memories
bleed out
pressed together
compressed
and archived
to be lost
under the dust
of a simple love
where the characters never part
and the story never ends

marie

she will read this one day

because she will want to know

what it is that I remember about her

was it the excellent white wine

or the halls of art?
was it the stolen kiss

beneath Nelson's gaze?
or was it the missed train
and the five hour wait for the next?
was it her warmth in the bed
or the bad tequila?
was it the candlelit meals
or her inability to win at pool?

all of the above Marie

all of the above

and more

kazzie

for the love I left
I leave a note
filled with deep sorrow and regret
for the pain I caused
I leave what's left of my soul and my youth
and for the life we might have had
I leave a solitary rose on an unintended grave
in the cemetery that is now my heart

all that I know

love is a soft word
peeled from one heart
and wrapped around another
like shrink wrap

goodbye is a hard word
torn from the lips
and punched into a heart
with a jackhammer

maybe is a cruel word
poured from an indecisive mind
and dripped into a heart
like liquid hope

whatever is my word
sprayed across my heart like graffiti
and whispered in my ears
as they come

and thankfully go

sounds like loneliness

I spend my nights listening to music
I just lay there in the dark
listening to a piano or a cello
losing myself in the melody
I drift above the quarter notes
and the softer pianissimo
but sometimes I let go
and dive beneath the clefs
and quarter notes
I swim beneath the chords of my loneliness
and the empty rhythm in my heart
for I know in that silence I will find her face

and my smile

somewhere and nowhere

I am above the clouds
I am within a city
I am within a language
I am somewhere
I am nowhere
I appear
I disappear

drowning

We are never fully prepared for the ferocity of a new love. We can't be. Love doesn't arrive within a gentle tap on the shoulder or a gentle nibble on the ear. It is the original sucker punch. An unannounced closed fist delivered at the speed of light into the heart, which is often followed by the sudden expulsion of air from the lungs. We've all been there and some of us never get that air back. But as you get older you learn to take the punches. The heart becomes tougher and we learn to read the terrain as we approach love. We see the exit ramps and the side roads. We realise the giddiness in our thoughts is due entirely to the slow draining of blood from our brains. The mild obsession and fascinations we realise, are no more than the encircling fins heralding our end.

But love is cruellest when it arrives too late and when a misspent life littered with mistakes tells you that you are not worthy of this love. That is a moment that I fear the most. When love is dangled before me. When happiness is within my grasp. They say a drowning man will always takes someone with him; if given the opportunity.

I however find the weight of my sins is enough to convince me that I must drown alone.

grating expectations

I like her
she makes me smile
I feel an attraction
but all I could paint
was a collage of light bondage
and chickens on crack

truly

a tastier dish
I have never seen
than lean pork sausages
and granola