Shiny Yellow Stockings

Man of glass
fractured
you stood
you sat
you smiled
you cried

No longer, in residence anyone of your name
remains.
Spirals of memories –
children’s games
fishing boats trawl waters deep
dream catchers with their secrets to keep
flickering images of black and white
reliving fragments of others acceptance.

Mother dear you’ve stitched that piece before
I know, you knew, that one day
someone would come knocking on our door
think you can wear that blanket
of ignorance for always, strip off that outer
coat of varnish –
scrub away the tarnished debris
You should have been an actress
encore after encore
with everyone screaming more
more, more – but not me!

In shiny yellow stocking, I held
my step father’s hand
in my shiny yellow stocking I
simply – did – not – understand.

Advertisements

Dancing Daffodils

You begged to go swim –
to sleep
deeply, of the fish and ocean.
So slowly with the rising of the tide
we sank to our knees, dancing
for reasons of know, knowing.

We had a love house
flooded plains, hidden from
the fat eyed women and flat-capped men
who sat outside, beside their view of life
wagging their
tongues, of debased woe.

Remember when they found us, seaweed
rolled – with hair a mess and features
cold.
Didn’t I say – we needed to rise

but instead, we kept on dancing
far beyond those fields of
golden, swaying daffodils…

Hologram

I don’t need my friends to come calling
banging on the door, bringing with them their platitudes
and childlike fairy-tales of happy ever after’s.

I enjoy my solitude – alone is me
I get along well, being by myself.
Does that make me sound ungrateful slightly the oddball
with my ladder, not altogether reaching normality’s floor?
Then to hell if it does – I can handle that, its people
who screw me up.

Sometimes I think I am a hologram lacking
of any bodily substance.
Therefore, I close my eyes
much preferring the world from behind this shuttered view
of which the solitude is so breathtakingly indescribable.

I know if I refuse to play their games, they will eventually leave.
Thankfully, I am not like them,
at least there is some sanity –

in my unending madness.