Category: Poetry
-
The Interactive Hand-Written Letter
Christmas Day my sister stopped everything with the rustle of paper. We all stopped eating waiting to find out what she was up to.
-
on grief : a meditation for Renee Good
Shouldn’t there be a persons who should not have died hotline? An anonymous number tocall and complain about a loved one’s loss?Or better yet preemptively a web site? Where you fill out a form detailing their conditionand the ideal prescription you’ll never see?Presuming of course that you’re the only oneWho can decide if they live…
-
the beauty of pain
There’s an eternal beauty in pain,A pre ordination of fate and singularity,That of an already known familiarity.Depth, breadth, length-measured once again.One can easily transcribe the ongoing extermination,Shadowed lines of a heart once kept,Bruises unseen tears still to be wept,Unbeknown lesions on a x-ray – a final ablution.Once passed pain lives on unknowingly,A silenced hurt now…
-
make me a sandwich
Unwrap the loaf,Wipe the bread board,Unlid the butter,Wield the butter knife.An extra sandwich is fine -Should you ask, no I won’t assume.Your favourite filling, never would be mine,Four slices for me, two even for you.Spread out the butter,Lay down the filling,Smooth through the dressing,Mine topped with loaf crust.Don’t make me a sandwich, I say.I make…
-
Sins of empathy: an inventory
Helping refugees in fear cross the frontier….Committing the ultimate sin of empathy.
-
Light mystical rain
I want the light mystical rain,that which envelopes as an invisible cloak,the one that surrounds and cleanses me,nurtures me and heals me leaving me,armour clad and restored to hope.
-
Afterwards always ever afterwards
Afterwards I would like to be known as the first light shining through your eyes as you knew me. And afterwards as the reflection that, shone your true light reflected back to you.
-
No commas no full stops
No commas, no full stops… Let our spaces be stepping stones. Let there be breathless semicolons whilst wandering questions and floundering ellipses lead us one to the other…
-
the squalls before
a line of unravelling grey steel wool smudges the horizon… And as the closed around me walk on, I start running seeking shelter.
-
Biafra 1968
1968 saw my first childhood famine, via shaky black and white broadcast : Shadows fading first so easily ignored…Unlike the confronting colours of today.At seven, I knew nothing of their world,I stared at their alien cobwebbed skin,stretched over-tented whitened bones,Knew not of their death-waiting skeletons.Their eyes pled from skulls shrivelling,Imploring to the life that beats…
