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 –
drizzling today – but at least it’s warm.
I sit, legs
dangling on the sandstone garden wall.
I am trying hard,
to make my final sweet
last, until tea time
yet I somehow
doubt it will.
a man in with Mama who I don’t recall
ever seeing before.
are sitting side by side eating strawberries
I really hope they
save some for me.
Their voices are low – but every now and
I can here Mama laugh.
She doesn’t laugh that
often – I guess
that’s how I notice it so, when she does.
I swallow my sweet, feeling annoyed with myself
for being so greedy.
I wish they would hurry up and finish whatever
it is, they’ve got to say.
Eventually I hear the sound of the
front door being rattled open.
Sometimes in the really wet weather
the door sticks –
Mama hit it with a pick axe once, made
no difference other than it broke the handle.
For months afterwards we used a spoon
to turn the lock until finally an old friend
came to fix it –
‘free of charge’ Mama said!
side by side out they came – he looked full of himself to me.
Mama acted all surprised on seeing me.
Can’t think why – she had told me to sit there.
started making funny head gestures towards the house.
down from the wall – but not before
the man had
strolled towards me.
I could smell those strawberries on his thick beer laden breath. He took some sweets from his pocket, holding them out to me.
nodded for me to accept – so I took them.
soon expertly rummaging
in amongst the bright coloured wrappers
looking for my favourite.
Some of Mamas words got a
little lost as I unwrapped the sweets.
However, I think I heard
‘Mary, say hello to your new Daddy’.
I smiled – at least this one brings me sweets…
You are of two shadows, each discreet of the other
sitting alone for midnights blackest skies,
to come and block you from my view.
Allow me to decorate your grey,
placing purist calico thoughts, of scattered home effects:
Expected pauses – I can go with that
swallowed ideals –
the tundra of your mind, soaring
to their high hills, and hiding places.
I softly finger trace the outline of your life
pleated folds, splatter raindrops
on your life’s, convictions.
Slip to slide, your footsteps,
sown between the indemnities of my needs
and your leaving.
Undressed, we let the tinderbox ignite
hermetic fragrance swaying drunk; the
sea holds tight her unbridled ire.
She places her hands around your empty stare
permitting me to love you – just this once
with all of my copious; naked care.
full mouthed, like a rattle snake in masquerade
fatalities numbers gathering, in the course of
Can you swallow the sound of the truth?
Or are you absorbed in my words of respect.
I never aspired to wound you – think me not your
butcher-bird perched on high waiting to assail.
As for all who loiter in the realms of your retribution
let it stand, how roses black, dressed in shaded vale
did decompose as a child filled her time –
waiting to be your Daughter:
Whilst sanguine nasturtiums, did weaken to
recollections of distant grey – only to wake outside
the believing of my childhood, extracting nothing
beyond the liberty of my mind…
I like you – you said
over the smouldering ends of a non perfect day.
I’d marry you if you wore your doc martins
and I was the marrying kind.
However, I’m not, so we won’t
we’ll just rub along.
Be a love
pass me that last, chocolate éclair.
I think you are pretty – you said
removing your horned rimmed glasses.
Well – you might be, if not for
your hair – and your gormless blank stare.
Plus, I never do compliments –
they’re just so incredibly dumb!
I think you suit me – you said
stretching your languid limbs.
I’ve always thought
it such a sin – that you are dreadfully thin,
though nothing a good meal couldn’t solve.
I think you love me – you said
rising slowly from your eminent pose.
Yes, I expect I might – in the dead
of the night – with my faculties’
void of all sense.
However, I know we’re not meant – so
don’t take offense; just take your éclair
and go shove…
She shed her glory
like a tree in autumn fall.
Painted ruby mouth – blushing
over painted sallow skin.
Was it for love – no – never.
A misconstrued secluded sin –
maybe, but not anymore.
She provided they took,
let your own puritan thoughts
put to bed this ageless act.
It was hers to peddle;
though never knowingly under sold.
Always fixed by the price of the street
with her back firm against the wall.
The familiarity of urgency sold– but always with no kissing.
They will liquidate your strength of mind
for a humble feast of trifling fortune cookies.
Trodden down those heals you wear
though little worn, for apparent show of pride.
Cuckoo in your life of average – you
strike the quarters – whether in or out.
A public box –
A secluded stage –
dance my precious minion;
contradict them all so pitilessly wrong.
For where, tell me, is it embalmed to
say, that beauty only – shall
arouse the tigers ardour; for the taste
of human flesh… –