Category Archives: Poetry

Knee to knee, shin to shin, bubble to bubble

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Within each crease lies my past.

An historic furrow,

burrowing above my eye line.

The platinum curls form

a crown, not yet the weight

of the band, that held our vows.

Safely set aside, to marinate in the salt

distilled from inconsolable tears.

Daily, as the bath fills

I recall us sharing a story,

knee to knee,

shin to shin,

bubble to bubble,

until the burst promises

were replaced by goosebumps.

Had we both outstayed

our welcome of the other?

I wish I had been more courageous.

Stepped out of my mind and body

months, years, a decade earlier.

Yet now on this day, some seven hundred

and twenty since, I stand, proud

of the visual indentations sadness has left

and wrap my right arm, gently

around the shoulder of your memory.

A marked down emotion

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Like a drunk, I sway in the wind,

legs opposing the mind’s intention

to keep parallel to the path.

Only determination holds steady

this march of commitment, amid

a sea of uncertainty walking, a path

cracked and downtrodden,

loose with unfulfilled holes, spilling

desire into puddles.

My stomach creeps up to my throat, seeking

reassurance from its familiar cries,

that a Mother’s bliss could soothe

by the lullaby of youth now outgrown;

unaware that innocence had a sell-by date.

A marked down emotion, now piled high

at the end of an aisle, its tainted promise

offering nothing more than the value of immediacy.

‘Too good to be true’, remembered,

and immediately forgotten

that first touch, that made my world whole.

Am I now vintage, not newly discarded

or merely second-hand perhaps,

to be found by another who has mislaid

one similar? Can a touch become new,

no comparison made to the hands

that knew every crevice

like the back of his own hands?

Cosmic Love

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I have loved and I have lost that love, but within that loss, I found myself and for that I am truly grateful. This song means so much to me.  It expresses the pain and the depth of love I felt for another human being.  It has taught me how brave it is to love with abandon and I trust that I will find another love like it, as the love for myself has grown and continues to grow.

A falling star fell from your heart
And landed in my eyes
I screamed aloud, as it tore through them
And now it’s left me blind

The stars, the moon, they have all been blown out
You left me in the dark
No dawn, no day, I’m always in this twilight
In the shadow of your heart

And in the dark, I can hear your heartbeat
I tried to find the sound
But then it stopped and I was in the darkness
So darkness I became

The stars, the moon, they have all been blown out
You left me in the dark
No dawn, no day, I’m always in this twilight
In the shadow of your heart

I took the stars from my eyes and then I made a map
And knew that somehow I could find my way back
Then I heard your heart beating, you were in the darkness too
So I stayed in the darkness with you

The stars, the moon, they have all been blown out
You left me in the dark
No dawn, no day, I’m always in this twilight
In the shadow of your heart

The dictatorship of man

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The musty scent of testosterone

hangs stale in every corner of civilization.

Feminine intuition drenched.

Oestrogen driven saviours

down trodden, weakened,

by the muscular sinews of masculinity.

Their strength visible

in the eyes of every living creature,

except man.

Whose continual struggle

with his own ego,

will reduce life to a pile of rubble.

Worthless to everyone

but the puppeteers,

whose pockets we mindlessly line.

Loose change

thrown absentmindedly,

into the outstretched hand

of a begging nation.

He averts his eyes,

in contemptuous judgement

of the playmate of his youth.

Grace tugs at the veil,

continually conspiring.

Her soft scented hand attempting,

to remove the heavy scent

of the dictatorship of man.

His Decorated Soldier

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I attached pins to his words;

wore them like badges

sewn onto my breast.

Accomplishments, they were.

Skills attributed

to an adherence

of another’s will.

Another’s way of being.

A projected accolade

to which I conformed,

reflecting nothing more

than his desires;

a mirror of his intentions.

How proud I had been,

to be his decorated soldier.

My medals shining

more brightly than my heart.

The velvet lined box,

taking pride of place

above and beyond

any of my own desires,

which sat muted

in the shadows of a love

I could never make whole.

it is time

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The clock strikes the hour

slapping her sharply across the face,

admonishing her precision;

her steadfast requirement to record

each and every second.

Never looking back,

the metronome of her heart

keeps her dutiful march steady

as she leaves history in her wake.

Her divine potentiality,

kinetically buoyant.

Its creation equal

to its destruction.

She waits

for no-one.

Time waits

for no one.

No queues

or overtaking masses.

Mankind scared

to look her in the eye,

scared to take hold

of her ticking hand,

for he will find it empty.

Empty of everything.

Empty

but for this moment.