Silently, I Go

Words tremble and form on my lips.
In the middle of nowhere,
on an old, abandoned field’s
icy, quiet calm – I can
see those words as frosted air,
palpable, almost real.
Almost.
The memory of ecstasy
ripples vehemently in rifts,
saying, ‘don’t let go –
don’t let go of the moment,
the tenderness and the journey
that has begun –
don’t let go of the time invested
and the heart’s own life span,’ –
I clap my mitts together hard.
I need to hear another voice
in the heavy, thick dullness
of meaningless, inside this bitterly
cold wilderness – an expansion
of existence.
Inside this perfect ring of O,
caution and doubt is excluded
by the wintry tourniquet
and deep seated bleakness.
Within this rink of fire,
I have found a plan;
idly scraped into the dense snow’s
virgin white territory
are thoughts and decision making –
a bittersweet means to an end.
I exhale and words reverberate –
detached.
Let loose, they do their own thing.
I believe that trust is its own reward,
and love is a consequence
of that very airing –
so, I let them breathe.
My lips tremble from more words,
although I can’t hear them, they spill
and the cold lets them sit there.
Sat on the snow, memories
cosy up to them,
of when tears made me choke
and lies made me half blind –
now they both
thaw like a discarded
ice lolly bleeding into the impacted
prisms hidden in this pristine
foundation.
I rub my insulated woollen hand
over the small pond’s glass
to see a lifetime spent asking
why amid my mind’s sighs to half
answered questions and doubts,
and painful bouts of inertia.
I find a heavy rock, and listening
only to the whispers between
my thighs’ nylon energy,
I smash it into a face
in the ice –
all of those things are finally
released and surface through the shards
of their confinement –
roaming prisoners cut loose
to set me free,
to crawl out onto the debris.
Wading knee deep I try to remember
what was instilled in me;
I was taught to swim and love,
and trust in rewards,
I was loved and I am loved,
a consequence of not sinking –
swim freely.
The temperature plummets
within, and still knee deep, I am caught
in the ice of limbo
like a reluctant, unbaptised infant
who already knows its own mind.
Today, it is not as simple; revisited
once again, by dark clouds that come
to smother me with their words –
they take their place in the queue
in this time lapse of a snowy day
where whiter clouds come and go,
but like my words they are seldom
realised, and so I have to withdraw
into a quiet blackness – the Narnia sheen
of glistening reason is too bright,
too stark, too vivid when shouts scream
from it.
The pool of unhurried water is a starkly
black dilation –
of a welcoming eye – the pupil inside
this giant O.
I fall into its gaze, and like yours
it swallows me up.

Dig Deep #domestic abuse

A little rant and a p-o-e-m in light of increasing domestic abuse numbers (within this Covid period) and ‘legal’ /unrecognised domestic abuse – depending on country, perspective, bribery and misogyny. It is not OK to condone the notion that women exist to be beaten, abused and trodden on.

unknown source

Bury me deeply
so that the sun can’t find
my heart.
It will not oblige
if torn from my smouldering flesh;
soothing fractals in the shadows of my skin
still glow with the pearls
of my faith, a faith that now runs as sweat down
my beaten face. My soul was always on fire –
the reason your hands are now burning.

Bury me deeply
so that the crows you tame
will not abuse me for all eternity,
when solace is no longer
a sacred place
and death becomes an arbitrary mulch.

Bury me deeply,
so that when your fists rage and pound
against the rise of dank, dark soil,
I will not feel you.
And when you scream and shout,
begging for grief and release, since I am not
there to torture, the crows will
gather once again,
but, you will watch them shield me.
So, you should bury
me deeply.

Inside, Will the Sun Shine?

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I wish it was possible to live
without a heart,
and walk inside a head
without thoughts
and dread.
And as I was walking in my head,
the lighting wasn’t set –
good moods left me at the lamppost –

its metallic flavour permeated my tongue
as I wrapped my cold arms around it,
while your taste
and the taste of blood
brought me darkness and tears.
I had hoped reinventing
the sunshine would bring me
memories like ham rolls,
and hot mustard
spilled onto a tablecloth of time
where I’d lay out my choices;
of meetings in the square,
casual and attentive,
awash with shadows
when they came to serve the daylight,
and with more than enough warmth
to dry these morbid tears.

I still walk for hours and hours,
but never venture out.

Bring me sunshine,
bring me laughter,
bring me love.

Inside

winter-1732882_960_720.jpg

Is it possible to live
without a heart?
Or walk inside a head
with thoughts instead
of dread?

I was walking in my head
the lighting wasn’t set,
the mood left me at the lamp post,
its metallic flavour permeated my tongue
when I wrapped my cold arms around it
while your taste brought me tears.
I had hoped reinventing the sunshine would bring me
memories like ham rolls, hot mustard
spilled onto time where I’d ponder my choices;
meetings in the square,
casual and attentive, awash with shadows
when they came to serve the daylight,
and with more than enough warmth to dry my tears.
I still walk for hours, never venturing out.
Bring me sunshine, bring me laughter,
bring me love.

Love is on the Brink

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I thought all love was the same,
except maybe with time,
the thicker the blood
the stronger the pain.
Then I thought love was to blame
when your hand,
which was once so gentle
while it held my heart,
became the ledge it teetered on.
I was too frightened to breathe,
afraid to fly from that cold stone
where one push could send me falling
and falling.
So I stopped breathing,
but you were always there
in your various ways,
I could feel you
slamming on my chest,
pounding and pounding –
you would fool me with this love,
massaging until you brought me back,
and like a fool I came back
only to stand with jelly legs
looking down into the abyss of you.
I thought love sometimes ended.

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