Did he move me today?
Even in some small inadequate way
in this his dirty cold house –
as I sit watching raindrops beating against the wall
where the drainpipe should be.
They bounce upwards, before hitting the ground
sinking without trace.
All so incredibly reminiscent of us…
I never felt our nearness back then
maybe our stock piled debris got in the way.
Pots and pans full of heated simmering emotion
cracked eggs leaking trails of raw foul affection.
Wiping clean the bedroom mirror,
I still don’t see him – he’s become
insignificant: like snow on a long hot summer’s day… !
Don’t cry I say – I really am on your side.
But you know there will always be a part of me
you can: never have.
Therefore, without a hope to cling too –
I leave him alone with his gloom…
(Nominated for February’s readers choice on TFP)
It was the first gift you gave me
turbulent years turned it into my last.
To the outside we lived in bubble wrapped smiles
on the inside, we crumbled.
Our own Roman Empire –
on a long: ugly bad date.
Sure, we ticked all the boxes as married
couples imagine they do.
Only we had long put away the entertaining.
Sporting instead – rancid grid locked faces
skid marked and overrun.
Explanations: we stopped looking
our 21st century grande passional.
Then came the day; to throw
away those redundant “I do’s”
A silly young girl’s mumblings that had left me
fumbling with my life’s lack of attraction –
I was sick to death
with the proverbial resonance of (go to hell)
to which I stealthy replied –
“I’m already there”!
Therefore, in my mind, I moved you out –
turning the lock firmly, placing it far out of reach
then flogging the ring you had gifted me; all for a pittance
of closing retribution.
Violation, violation of all the things I had once
thought I loved.
Still –You can’t get to me any more, I have become invisible.
Turning off all the lights –
– and laughing she says –
there is NO moon tonight….!
Featured on DAGDA 19th February 2013
(We loved this piece. Poppy takes us through a time in life which is both difficult and liberating. Through a masterful mix of memory, imagery and poetic licence, Poppy draws us into this world of regret, anger, apathy and of a woman coming to life and throwing off the shackles of unhappiness. It is a confessional piece reminiscent of Sylvia Plath at her darkest and most, ultimately, free).
I did not dwell in you
nor you in me.
Sometimes dressed in yellow
your sunlight always absent
Doubtful summers oh how
you perfected death – my Mother cold.
Did we ever taste your love?
Scuffed expectations –
I sang myself to sleep, faltering lines
like cotton wool
they drowned my Fathers broken tenor voice.
The air around you stupefied
children innocent – dispersed to hide
we carved our name with flaws.
Fallen flowers between us – composed
in their decay.
We the young, soon become adults- with nothing
more to say…
Poppy 2013 ~xx~