Tuesday, 25 December 2012

Untitled-feedback needed!!

I wrote I miss you in the recess of a muddy puddle

Letting the water dismantle my words, ever so quietly

No cracks to behold, or a sliver vacuity, just a blur..

Always a blur.

I sprayed I hate you in red ink all over the road

Something for the rubber to make noise on, since I never did

It mixed with grime until I couldn’t see anymore

And neither could the driver.

I wrote I love you in blood on a scribbled math page

Letting it fade, as all the passion had

The coal mine of our land, empty now

Depths to fall in.

I typed I give up in a font that you would despise

Giving my fingers room to move

As I kept my mouth shut, scared of being driven into words.

I scrawled that I don’t care anymore

Or that I don’t miss you anymore

Letting the remembrance of those our love had killed rock me to sleep.

I write like you- not like you.

And its all true, what I write, except maybe-

I don’t miss you-

But I miss you when I’m breathing.

Sunday, 23 December 2012

Where are you going?

In Railway parade

There is a girl

Oh where are you going now?

Her fingers to busy, to quick for traps

She is writing the love of a the storm

Oh where are you going now?

She wants for you to stay

Like the simile for metaphors

An undecided thing

Oh where is she going now?

It’s almost Christmas Eve

Oh don’t follow; she knows the way well

Oh where are we going now?

No salvation on this Yuletide Eve, this Yuletide Eve

There is a present underneath the tree

The one that is from me

Where do we go now?

Where are we going?

I bought you my heart

But Jesus smashed it on the floor

And took my soul away, a verse at a time

Where will I go now?

You’ve gone where I can’t follow.

Wednesday, 21 November 2012

The Sound of Time

  Inspired by WH Auden

The sound of time

Is the tick! Tick!

Of the hall clock as

You wait for supper.

Everybody knows it

But they think nothing

It’s just a tick, akin to a church mouse waking.

The feel of time is

Scattered pages, holding secrets

The edges rough

The face smooth

Everybody feels it

But they think nothing

It’s only paper

Akin to the pages in Bibles and sermons

The taste of time is

Salty and red

Blood spills, yes

But it heals, it just takes time.

Everybody tastes it

But they think nothing

It’s only drops

Akin to the grazed knees of childhood.

The look of time

Is long reaching bands

Of silver and gold

That shows the passing of hours and minutes and days

Everybody knows it

But they think nothing

It’s just a tool

Akin to a bell or pair of scissors.

We hear.

We feel.

We taste.

We see.

We do not realise the

Traps that have sprung

Tricking us to think

That we are the masters of time

Time is the unforgiving master

That controls and meddles

Not enough time, we say

Time is running out

Everybody knows it

But we pretend

That time is contained in clocks and pages

Time is akin to grains of sand sliding

Far too soon down the slide of life.

There is not enough time.







Thursday, 15 November 2012


Random. I got the idea from a prompt.

If only I’d known

That love is like Honey

Gliding on trust me

The juiciest flies caught

If only I’d known

That you’re not so faultless

Syrup, not Honey

To runny

Nothing to hold me

And to make me stay.

Wednesday, 14 November 2012

Paint Job


Paint Job

The fence was far too high

To begin with

And it was no mean feat

To pull it down

But we did

The scarred wood cracking

Warped by the sun

That had split many a rock

Then you said

Next is my house

And a roof tile fell off

Shattering a faded gnome

And you sweared at the kitsch of it all

Then melted into the old kitchen

Still with its ’85 rubber oven

The cordial was old

Like you

And warm like you

Bottled with experience

We drank slowly, out on the falling porch

The blistering haze cracking cicada shells

The paints in the shed, you said

The grass snapped like Oyster shells

Under my thonged feet

And the bucket of colour was heavy

You held the stripped brushes

Gentlemen’s moustaches

Able, brown fingers open my heavy tin

And we started to apply it, slick as grease

But three times more pretty

With your straw hat you looked like a paragon of the sunburned country.

That was Australia, in ’99

And that was the day we painted Grandad’s fence.

Please comment! This is only the first draft :)

Tuesday, 13 November 2012

Hey Jealousy

Hey jealousy

You can be my best friend

Whisper in my ear

Or you could be my lover

And a sweet nothingness, to

Hide behind the smoke screen

Glory in my lack of inhibition

Nibble at my soul.

Hey jealousy

You can knock at my door

Give me flowers and

Seduce me

Blind me and take me

Tell me I can have it all

Hey jealousy

You’re the beat in my ears

The taste in my mouth

You’re my director

Who hides behind the curtain

Hey jealousy

Why do you fill me up?

When I see her

The poison in my brain

The cogs in my heart that

Roll and fight-that’s you

Hey jealousy

Can you see what you’re doing?

You’re breaking me apart.

You’re holding my heart away from me

Hey jealousy

Maybe I don’t care anymore

Maybe I haven’t for a while.

Sunday, 4 November 2012