This city .
Sneakily snaking within my veins
Weighing my losses favourably against my gains
In the dead of night she screams my name
No sleep will I get
But this is London
And I’m not dead yet
.
I cannot see you
Not because I have grown blind
Because our love has grown entangled
I am you
You are me
We have grown
But, where?
Where do you find your worth?
Are you fulfilled by the kind words of others?
Do you reveal lifes inner truths in the selfless acts you display?
Cold, hard cash, do you dance to money’s tune?
Or does the worthiness of art, of poetry, mean more to you?
Do you know where your life is taking you?
Do you have a plan?
Because I don’t know where I’m going
Could I borrow some direction?
Could you lend a sister a hand?
Cold feet
My feet are always cold
Well, to be exact
It’s my goddamned toes
I can cover them in shoes
And socks
Untold
But they never seem to catch a bit of warmth
No matter how I wiggle them so!
No title
I don’t know what to say, to you.
I never really have.
All I can ever even think to ask, is
“Are you well?”
Sometimes I am brave and ask you this.
And when you, (with a smile), say “yes”
I’ll always reply
“I’m glad”.
The time is now.
The time is now
The sun has risen
The dawn has broken
Night has turned her other cheek
She blankets the other half in her darkness
You have been blessed, once more, to see the sky
To take in that breath, to open those eyes
What will you do with this day?
For tomorrow is never a promise
A “maybe” (at best).
Will you languorously while the hours away?
Or will you “seize” it, as they so love to say?
Whatever it is you choose to do
This fleeting moment here is all we ever really have
The time is now.
Poem Number Eight
Flotsam and jetsam
The remainders of the shipwreck of my heart
You, the feckless captain
jumped ship long ago
Swimming away to sin on shores unknown
The sun keeps on rising and setting
Setting, rising
Rising, setting
A certainty we can rely on
Yet here I stay
A wreck
Laying, prone, on this unforgiving reef
Of spent and squandered lust
A sea of my own making
Around me, ebbs, flows
How quickly can a broken heart take anchor?
I’d really like to know
Poem Number Seven
Through the deepest, darkest nights I have emerged
Soaring, singing, swaying up towards the light
Breathing, bellowing, beholding the beauty of the morn
Thinking, thanking, thirsty for all the ways
Joy shows herself, today.
Poem Number Six
Find comfort in the small things
The Sunday morning rain as it smears your window pane
A lovers breath on cheek as the night brings such sweet promise of sleep
When all seems to have gone astray
There’s always another way to think, to feel
In this very moment you emanate life
This moment is all we ever really have
