Blossom

Sitting among fallen petals

I start to rebuild roses

A project of precision

To attempt creation

Hands refusing to shake

Whilst solitary petals meet their flower

Every move an operation

As this back to front, patchwork life

Awakens coldly but calmly

Fragile and even

The exact degree of nurture

Given without hesitation

Looking across, close to exhaustion and despair

I see it

Blossoming

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Blame Game

Blame the city for its flashing hardness, For the giant buildings obscuring subtleties, causing you to miss them,
Blame the cars when you get carried away,
From the ones you love,
Their speed was inescapable and you were only young,
Blame language for it’s brutality and all of it’s failings,
The inability of words to convey your thoughts,
Blame the bright lights for their flashiness as you sit in the dark,
The mess around you momentarily gone,
And do not forget the colour blue for the way the sheets looked when he left,
The piercing, peaceful colour that made him lose his love,
And the seagulls for calling out when they should have left you silent,
And then blame the people because you never meet anyone,
But also blame loneliness for preventing you trying,
As you sit alone, playing the game of blame.

A Toy Town

It is just a toy town
Where I come from
Nothing special
A minature version of reality
Sitting, breathless, awaiting the life
That comes from memory

It’s just a toy town
And toys get shattered easily
We were little kids
And the park swings launched higher, higher
Refusing to hit the ground
Caught in the stillness of time
A reality captured and preserved
With the worn out streets crystalised
With the silence that refuses to listen
In the peaceful sobriety of an English town

It’s just a toy town
And we were toy children, making the town into what we desired it to be

Old Fashioned

Perhaps it is old fashioned to say
That the slowness of my heart and mind
And the high energy rush of life
Means that I drag them with me
As they calculate, slightly behind time
The emotion and the speech
Of that moment
Until I am tripped, entangled in heart and brain
And I am not quite fast enough
At picking myself up
Not quite fast enough
To avoid stares
As they are hushing, rushing along
Asking “where have you been?”
And “what do you have to say?”
And the moment passes
As I am reminded of soft patterns on china
And listening to the radio on a rainy evening
Dancing to piano music and running for the fun of it
Perhaps it is old fashioned to say
That the slower the time, the slower the fall
And becoming lost in memories collects me together again

A Ghost Story

We all feel sorry for our ghosts
But hers was a sad, sad soul
Trailing her night and day
They said she was too soft
But the ghost was hurt
And needed guidance
So she grew accustomed to its sadness
And grew used to its loneliness
Went shopping and bought it flowers
Gave it attention
Fed it with warmth
And it grew bigger
Her colleagues wondered
Why she clung to it
Asked if it was a burden
But something about the ghost
Meant that she couldn’t turn away
From its sadness
She started talking to it, soothing it,
Living in it
It grew too strong
Began to choke her
And she saw that although she was sorry for it, it was not sorry for her.

When she began ignoring it, it screamed
And begged for her
Her friends asked
How she could turn away from it
And the more it wailed
The less she felt for this dark reflection of herself
She starved it of warmth
Turned her attention elsewhere
Bought herself flowers

We all feel sorry for our ghosts
And hers grew so weak
That it could no longer haunt her
The faint wisp of it stayed
But no longer trailed her
As she learnt to be alone again

Thirteen

Thirteen and a half

Oddities attempting evenness

As evenness is surely the way to wholeness

And the rough, awkward edges made smooth by time

Are not yet sanded into nothingness

Although the act of wearing down becomes habitual

As the artist attempts to create an unknown object

With only thirteen and a half years

Waiting to become thirteen and whole

This Is How I Feel

I would have waited for you,
Until the sun went down,
Until our love faded,
Until the water we drank ran out,
You could have called me,
Waited until I was at home,
Dragged me out into the rain,
And told me you were sorry,

I would have told you,
What you meant to me,
Had we done this properly,
But now I am left,
With all this hard work,
And an empty head,
That used to be filled,
With you.

You could have taken me for a walk in the sun,
Sat me down by a pond,
And poured your heart out,
Could have ordered me a pizza,
Spelled out “I am sorry” in peperoni,
And held me until I was still,
Then I would have said I am sorry too,
It was a pleasure to get to know you,
And I still would have supported you.

Now we have to do this the hard way,
With a blank screen and a fake smile,
As I make my way to work,
And try to mend,
Whilst wondering what to do,
With my love for you.