poetry

nine lives

the house next door had holes in the walls

I could see sunlight shine through

on bright days

and when it rained

my sliding window

3-inches wide

behind bars

flaking and tired

open so

the cat could come and go

then, at night

through

forks of light

you called

and buildings fell

curtains of grey rain

soft, soothed

a rift in time

muffled all

except Sinead

and sudden, close

her vibration

cut through the beer and wine

standing naked

couldn’t tell

hell from beauty

warmth from fire

sickness, health

anyway

that was one

of nine lives

 

Photo by Petr Slováček on Unsplash

Danger

let wind kiss skin

starved of affection

waves stroke and soothe

a new years’ benediction

smell of smoke and airline fuel

a change of direction

old perfumes stir memories

pain, and its reflection

all the deeds unpunished

must live in the body

alongside achievements

like running, like love, like danger

unacknowledged

 

Soundcloud: https://on.soundcloud.com/K7Nva

 

Photo by Nadia Jamnik on Unsplash

jacaranda

forgot I fell in love
with street corner
concrete
and patches of sunlight
falling aslant
where the
pavement
swells with roots
of fig trees
like your leg
against mine
under the summer
sheets
after we
oh
there’s that, too
the lilac of
jacaranda
strokes my eyes
offset by
sapphire sea
I’m drifting
into Jeff Buckley
again
yearning
early
emotion
I’m not sure this is new
or far too
late
blooming
as candy clouds
like a sweet sort of joke
pastel caress
kiss, kiss
kiss, more, more please
kiss
at my throat

September

September, September, September
suddenly everything I read
says September! although it generally means
autumn, northern
not sultry sudden-summer breeze
September! marker, moment of stepping through
the brink, the precipice
of spring, sudden launch in
to a shock-cold waterslide thing
with bushfires ahead
not cozy nights
closing in
with
Halloween pumpkins
a flickering torch in a garden
scent-lit by warm-jasmine
on closer inspection
turns out to be
pixelated, muzzeley
not a real flame
immediately
September!
a start or an end?
put my hand in the still-cool water
realise if my palm is the bay,
the knuckles sandbar, my arm’s the channel out to sea
and me
– I’m out there, not the land
but a floating, liquid being
ocean-whole and once again
I wonder
does it mean
to finish, or begin
September, September, September
a door
a spark
an ember
Photo by Tengyart on Unsplash

Receipts

Who has time to waste?

except on Sundays

when I feel like getting wasted

to fill the emptiness

I could almost

write a whole book

on restlessness

if I could settle

in my chair

without scrolling, endless

toxic products

a lifecycle to landfill

existential despair

put everything in boxes

and let the mould grow

your children

won’t be interested

in dusty receipts that show

how much you spent

on name-brand trousers

in the 90s

but

I’ll know

 

Photo: Claire Doble

amber

put that in aspic

put it in amber

as the long gold

of a winter afternoon

draws on my heart

and the cravings start

to preserve that almost-there

feeling, like where

you dragged your lips

down my shoulder

or the nostalgic

sense of a new

room

in a rented flat

as sun slants

across clean paintwork

dust-motes dance

I would

tear apart

shred the world

just to

keep this

butterfly-bright moment

pinned

to my taskbar

like yearning, like wanting, like chance

but the light just

slips

through my hands

 

Photo by Jack B on Unsplash

sand

All the sand has come back

they said

it would never

we are so linear

– So what about that

other way

another day

feeling so cynical

toxic, interpersonal

salute the

strategic resilience

resistance

insistence

and squat

menacing

relation is liminal

devoid of play

the sand swamps all

your rocks

your quay

a new world

relative

perspective

held at bay

Streak – with audio

I didn’t touch you

for months and weeks

and it grew cold

yet bright and dry

in those shining mornings

we would fly through

the world, rounding on

rock shelves and

my heart lifted as the

ache set in deeper

feet cruel and

whispering to stop please

why oh why can’t you

listen when we speak

throwing you down

in sacrificial streak

like gravel, like blood, like steak

ignored until a louder voice

must shriek and tear

away tissues and strings

destruction looms

if only you’d touched me

sooner, soothed or

seen my toil

we might not be in

this awful spoil

 

Recording of ‘Streak’ https://on.soundcloud.com/pnvXB