An Abundance of Ashes (2020)
Which face can I carve on today?
In biro so it sinks into my flesh;
In crayon so the wax melts off in disgrace;
In paint so the colours crease into my skin;
Or in pencil when the pen starts to thin?
Tell me which of me will come out
in stardust or in sin?
A temperament of fire, so fresh in burning
That it singes the edges. Leaves everything
To lie coated
In ashes.
A lavement of water that casts over
to drench all to the bare bones.
Icy and thick with salt
And black as a sea-nymph’s cave
Immense illuminations and
Lightshows.
Expertly crafted in lucid,
Loud and bold splices of the spectrum.
How will I love
you today?
With wondrous architecture
I shall chisel out your frame
Onto gold and marble.
Carve “Greatest of All”
On the plaque below
As I
Look up in awe at your stone-white eyes.
Or in mass contempt
I shall despise your
Alabaster soul.
Smash you into cinders
And spit out the shards
Without much reason at all.
Will I go hungry today
As I give into the distorted image?
As I’ve done for many years.
Never knowing quite how to interpret
That mirror image I so despise,
Without much in the way
Of clarification for reality’s truth.
Will I be forced into a different suit
That feels like bleach on my skin
And smells of rot and plastic?
Makes me itch and bleed;
Skin particles stuck underneath my nails.
Place another mask
Over my visage;
Tear it off,
Leaving vessels and tissue
To stretch out the eye-sockets;
Lips; teeth; cheeks
And every scar in between
Until you start
to recognise me.
Will I disappear into the void,
As I, my body, my mind,
Disintegrate into dust;
Lost in the light spectrum.
Do I go another day
Without much of me?
(or too much of me).
Will you tell me that much at least?
Will
You
Tell
Me?
You
Tell
Me?
Tell
Me?
Me?
Borderline, (2020)
A sole dancer pirouettes
Against that grainy, lifeless soil.
A Hundred glimpses of shadowy faces
Veering through that mucky cloud
With different sneers and smiles
Cast in the iron of their mouths
Are dancing right beside her.
One by one, they take a turn
grabbing the dancer by her patchwork wrists.
Spin her into their submission
taking the stage as one.
Too tight!
Too strong!
Too much!
Locked in arms that will never hold her
But still provide some comfort.
Perhaps familiarity.
Their fingernails and thumbs dig into her arms.
Make her bleed again.
Drinking up that river vibrancy
To live, to live, to live!
In waltzes and twirls she is carried
In and out of that moonlit gaze.
A dancer with a smile so tight;
So wide;
So maniacal,
Laughing, laughing, laughing!
A grin so menacing
and full of ecstasy!
Laughing, laughing, laughing!
Dancing!
In a salsa!
Foxtrot!
Tango!
Laughing and dancing!
Dancing and laughing!
Cackling like hens!
Howling like owls!
Convulsing!
She begs to stop:
“I’m tired”,
through giggles.
The shadow’s smirk
Does not crack.
Instead grows
With delirious merit.
“Dance! Dance! Dance!”
They chime.
and she dances.
Thrown to the next,
snares her in her grasp.
In clasped, clawed fingers
they begin to dance.
But
This
One
Does not smile
It rages and shouts and screams
Blood-scratched irises.
Blood in their fists
From holding on too tight.
It rages on and on
The dancer rages too.
Fury in the scrunches
Of her face.
But she does not know why
She furies.
Starts to scream
(Jaw still stiff,
locked from rage)
“I’m tired!”
Does not smile.
Instead slaps her
With furious merit.
“Dance! Dance! Dance!”
They chime.
and she dances.
Pushed to the next
Shadowy figure.
This one is drowning
In melancholy.
Tears tainting
That face
In streams.
Limbs barely moving;
Weighted, heavy, thick.
Slow dancing like sleepwalking.
Both dancers lay tired
On the others chest.
Eyes puffy and drowned
With that bitterness;
Lemon-soured hopelessness.
“I’m tired” she sobs,
Muffled into the wet T-shirt.
The other dancer pulls back:
They stare into each other,
Souls bare and faint.
“I know” she replies.
(But most importantly) (2019)
Tell me I breathe fire
When I only blow smoke.
Got to break through the words
When one only chokes.
Spit out bloody teeth.
Reminisces of a tongue.
Trying to find the power
to say the things, I mean.
I’ve always found it hard
To pour out my heart,
And not expect to
break the banks;
Or for rivers to thunder into seas.
But you helped me find
the oceans
That calmed my soul to stillness.
And when I could only fathom
drowning
You lifted me to the surface.
Shattered the rocks that kept me
Under.
while I drifted against the foam
I saw a reflection;
The light of the sun
In the cool of the stream.
Mirrored in the curves
Of your cheeks,
And the stardust
Of your bronze eyes.
Tell me what it means
When the sunlight trickles
Down your face.
How nothing else could be
As promising as the
Rain droplets that shimmer in
The locks of your hair.
And how the wind, when it blows
Through your clothes,
takes you so softly into
the air and sky.
I’d like to see the stars
Be as beautiful as you.
The only warming glow when
the rest of the world
Is consumed by darkness.
The trees could try to be
As strong; the flowers as sweet.
The water to carry life
Like you carry yours.
Fire could never be
as passionate
and ignited as the flames
in your veins and blood,
as you conquer your dreams.
Even if the aspects of the world:
(The specks; the dust;
the corners of the earth)
mimicked your footsteps,
they’d never match
how you make my heart grow.
how you gave me sanity
In an insane world.
blessed me with care
and tenderness,
In manners I thought
Impossible.
There will never be
enough words
To thank you.
I will give you the
Universe
As you have gifted me
Infinity.
(But most importantly)
…
I will love you
Endlessly.
Ode to My Mind – A Headless Dream, 2020
Ode to my mind, you screwed up piece of shit.
You have gotten me through a lot – I’ll give you that
But you run on constant loop and that tires me out.
And sometimes you have nothing good to say
(you don’t know the rules of the quiet game
And I wish you’d just shut up)!
I’ll admit you often sing me songs
(In which I happily sing along).
But you scream over the melody
“That person fucking hates you” and
“You’re a waste of space” and
“Here’s a nasty thought you didn’t ask for”.
Okay! I get it! I’m an asshole
But Muse are playing
So, could you kindly be quiet.
Oh, then you are silent!
It’s a dream…until ten minutes later
when you fancy another bout of
attention-seeking.
Oh, I enjoyed the flash image
of that traumatic event in my life!
Thank you! Next time send me a postcard.
It lasts longer…
Will I actually get to sleep tonight?
Or do you fancy a game of the worry-loop
in which I run around after you
trying to catch up.
Or will you present to me many scenarios
of what my identity might be today.
Ah perfect! I love a game of Guess Who!
before my 8-hour shift tomorrow.
But I must say, for everything you do
you are a bit of a smart-ass
and have the facts
to back up your big ideas.
You have gotten me pretty far in life
(although the road was a tad bumpy)
and you did help me write this poem
so, kudos to you, I guess…
The Right To My Body (2019)
As I sit and wonder here
Who owns the right to my body.
The ability to touch and feel,
Grab or push or hold.
Who has the right to follow my body
Wherever it may carry me,
Who takes my space
As their own.
Who thinks they have the right
To take it is as their own.
Who has the right to my body.
The right to hold what isn’t theirs,
Pinch it in secrecy
And wear a mask
In the crowd where those cannot see,
Or do, and take no notice.
Freedom to act in malicious intent
And steal my safety
Because others have given right to my body.
Take their claws over my legs,
My thighs, my arms,
Move fingers passed the line
And snatch the right to my body.
Dig stares into my body
Like I am prey,
As they take stance as predators
And forget my heart
As they take right to my body.
Snicker and grimace,
Say words to taunt me,
Claim me,
Belittle me,
Take right to my body.
Who has right to take my body.
To see me as their doll,
Their plaything,
Their next accomplishment.
Sweet victory.
Who has right to my body,
The body which I have nurtured to grow.
I have healed.
I have comforted when cold,
When alone.
Who has the right to my body,
One I have painted in art and colours,
Journeyed with.
Started adventures and made triumphs.
Loved others. Held others in my arms when the weight of the world kept them on their knees.
Who has the right to my body
Which I have hurt unkindly;
Taken for granted,
Starved and burnt,
Yet it has forgiven me.
It knows how much I need it,
How much I truly love it
As it carries and protects me
And helps me to discover greatness.
Who has the right to my body.
The body that has no owner.
That does not deserve to be taken,
Hurt,
Stolen,
Beaten,
Invaded.
But loved as it loves to,
And to live a life
Until it is joined with
The growing ground.
The Snake In The Grass (2018)
Splinters of green. Emerald Shards.
Silver-gold specs of sand.
The ground burned down by the Sun
Upon the drying land.
Low, so low to the earth and dust
Leaves like hands that hold the rain
and stalks and spindles twisting
To course the water-veins.
Entwined in weeds growing tall
A ribbon of scales slithering.
The bending of its back morphing
onto pastures forever-withering.
The pigments scarlet and coal
That coast the crust of the globe
So wicked in their beauty.
So daring to behold.
The skin appearing to shimmer
with a coat of silk-like slime
But so often is deceived
And misjudged in other eyes.
For the grounds that doth embrace
Know the sheath is not as such
But soft like velveteen-clouds
That caresses to the touch.
And the power of the creature
To be touching life and death,
And be born again exquisitely
But not take a different breath.
When the old is but outgrown.
Falls off like flakes of snow.
And reap the seeds of rebirth.
New flesh that shall be sewn.
The energy of this cycle
That turns and turns with vigour
And bestows green-envy in others
Unable to stitch grace in rigour.
This creature defined so lowly
And Machiavellian in its glide
Can shed the falseness of its back
And to its truth abide.
The God of Metempsychosis
Hiding within the strands of life.
On a throne drawn from stone
Rule with decay and rife.
In the spines of grass and lush.
The ground that drinks the daylight
A being that revives its heart
And its own story doth rewrites.
The world as it should follow
And lead by serpent reason
And turn and face the integrity
Of our own recounting seasons.