#32 healing poetry; complicated father’s day

I see The shadow of youBehind his formA dayThat should Be celebrated forThe Dad’s that choseTo stay.You were my sunAnd you fell belowThe horizonMy eyesTracked you as youLeft coloured streaksIn the sky – Except, you are not a sunYou are a man.And you chose each stepYou walkedAway from meCrying at the door.And now, I can’tContinue reading “#32 healing poetry; complicated father’s day”

#31 healing poetry; completely flawed, completely real

I’ve been holding onto so much.Strange tales told at midnight,Someone else’s love.I couldn’t let go of the idea,that that love should be for me, too.And if I wasn’t built to be her,this imaginary lover, then maybe I could act it out.See if he arrived, andsilver screens wouldn’t touchwhat we’d create.But my creation spun out ofContinue reading “#31 healing poetry; completely flawed, completely real”

Irish Wake

I know tomorrow,when the world grows steadyand quiet –we’ll close the curtains,mute the sounds of modern life,and stand for a momenthands clasped,hearing the rasp ofbroken footsteps at middayThen, the coffin will travel,with flowers growing oldin the air conditioning ofa herse, with cracked leather seats. For now, we stand round, and drink and eat around aContinue reading “Irish Wake”

Painting again…

Whenever I think about painting, drawing or creating – I freeze. It’s not that poetry is an easier form of expression. To be honest, there are parts of me that feel mortified that my poetry ‘following’ is not growing faster. But, with visual art, I see these rolling pictures. These past events and people rockContinue reading “Painting again…”

Move On Girl

The anxiety and guiltpushes up throughmy ribsI breathe outsome generic liesthat tripon my lip–I haven’t practicedfor this–As my time draws closer to an end withyou and thissituationdraws more blood,than, perhapsit should,A friend reminds methat I owe no-oneanything–Still, a part of mewants to prostrateat the feet ofan ideology, I don’t fully understand –I think this isContinue reading “Move On Girl”

At most, it felt cold.

When you held me it felt cold. At most, it felt cold. I wasn’t sure why you were there, Appearing in the space, Where my mother should have been. I thought if I gleaned a promise from my father, That I would remain first in his eyes, It wouldn’t matter that your presence, Signalled somethingContinue reading “At most, it felt cold.”

#1 healing poetry; soft-soul slumber

I need to let my mind unfold,it’s time to sleep, before I get old,and tired of these looping thoughts, that track me while I wake. When I’m awake,I feel this aching in my bones,At the intersection of a forward/back direction – my hands seem to unfold. I wonder,Is my mind in my hands, instead?And isContinue reading “#1 healing poetry; soft-soul slumber”