Trees know how to be braveThe trees are resigned to dyingTrees know how to be brave in Free Verse More Like This
and still they do not shrivel
against the brutal winds of August.
They reach out. Reach up. Grasp.
They etch out, as veins,
into the tender flesh of the sky
and pierce the sun with broken fingers
trying hard to warm aching bones
for their first and final days
of a life as a skeletal dream.
Trees know that tragedy is not death
but what we let die in us, in life.
Moving OnAll I can tell you isMoving On in Free Verse More Like This
I haven't gotten far
twenty years of yesterday.
The PledgesI pledge to immortaliseThe Pledges in Free Verse More Like This
acts of love committed against me,
to share the knowledge
painstakingly passed down to me
from shaky paper hands
to the smooth maternal grip
on reality - to me.
I pledge to remember
the way that my last first kiss tastes
and constantly struggle
to capture it for those not lucky enough
to kiss you.
I pledge to save my tears
to rehydrate old inkwells
so that they become part of every story
I decide to tell.
I love him nonethelessHe smoked in bed with his spine bent where it shouldn't, slumped across the pillows and with his eyelids half open and if it had been another life time I probably would have been in love with him.I love him nonetheless in Flash Fiction & Vignettes More Like This
As it was, I watched the cigarette as he brushed his nose with his palm, sniffed to try and retract his emotions and then shakily drew from it again.
He was utterly beautiful, even in wretchedness, and although every inhale was agony in his trachea I could see behind his dulled irises the desire to be better, and I was going to get him there.
I tucked my feet under his duvet and didn't care when our feet touched. He flinched but not at me but because his thoughts had been elsewhere. I took no offence and neither of us moved again.
He took nervous stabs at the ashtray as the loose tobacco fizzled and escaped the paper. It was an instinct. A reflex. If the bed had set alight with both of us in it the only reason either of us would have moved would have been to save the other.
The bed didn't set
C19H28O2Testosterone is not a measure of a man.C19H28O2 in Free Verse More Like This
C19H28O2 cannot make me smile
or feel safe in a claustrophobic world
in which breathing causes the piercing
colostomic pain of being alive
to rip through my thoughts.
C19H28O2 doesn't determine how a man loves
or how I love him in return.
It does not tell me whether or not
he will enlighten the biting nightscape.
It does not tell me who, or how to love,
because testosterone is not a measure of a man.
The Day The World Went AwayThe world went awayThe Day The World Went Away in Free Verse More Like This
wild and untethered
from now-loose neurons -
Oh how it flew
for that blind moment
before the lacework broke
and flung serotonin
against baroque wallpaper.
Caged Not TamedA heart squirms for a lifetimeCaged Not Tamed in Free Verse More Like This
trying to escape its aortic restraints.
The beat we find so comforting:
its desperate cries in its ribbed cage
as it aches to spill out from us
and find another of its kind.
being /with/ YouI want that -being /with/ You in Free Verse More Like This
head on your shoulder
with my eyes closed trying to
listen to your heart
and I can hear it shudder
but its better
than the buzz in my skull
telling me to slit my throat
so I put my nose
against your so-warm skin
and exhale on you
feeling like I can finally
again - moment.
I want that.
I want that with you.
Because I don't know why
but tucked beside you -
in the shadow of irrelevance
and so far
out of your periphery
that you don't even know
I'm around - just there,
I felt a precious moment
and whilst, yes, I crave that,
I don't think the calm
comes from anything but
Lay me outLie me under the morturer,Lay me out in Free Verse More Like This
under the mortar
and forget of me
until the periwinkle blue
reminds you of nothing more
than the slate of the sea.
What are you putting into this?
Is it heart
or is it blood?
Lay my life out singularly
upon the slab.
Lay it out;
music and bones spread out
like oils saturated into the canvas
and bleeding out,
like blackcurrants rolled
on table linen
until mothers' fingers run blue
across the collarbones
who groan of war in their sleep.
My quiet life might ricochet.
Lay it out,
and my life might stain then
it might leave echoes
and talk to itself in caves
and whisper of a madman
who collected other peoples pains -
I can't help that. (I've tried)
All I can do is hope
that when I die
you lay me under the mortar
WhiteShe sat at her marble desk with her sharp elbows forming another series of angles within the clean outline of the room. Her dark hair was a shock against the cynically white walls, painted so precisely to imitate a lack of colour, the room was markedly White. Except for the strikes of chrome down the walls that constituted pipeworks all was white except her. She stood out, but with such intent that all who visited this office knew to feel uncomfortable at once.White in Flash Fiction & Vignettes More Like This