* these pieces are from several years ago at university, presented as a way of charting the changes in my writing, and re-evaluating pieces I was very happy with at that stage.
The years travlled together
fall apart to mean nothing.
Your voice from afar
through taught black lines.
No it's not alright,
I'm here and you're not.
Distance between us
becomes infinite.
And in France they
nail your coffin.
Sunday, August 21, 2011
Ocean Side
* these pieces are from several years ago at university, presented as a way of charting the changes in my writing, and re-evaluating pieces I was very happy with at that stage.
Moments captured in photographs.
You with a smile
and the sun setting behind you,
casting an eerie redness on everything
such tragedy in serenity
such serenity in tragedy
The waves roling wearily onto the sand
then gently receeding to come back later,
occasionally they come close enough
to lap at the tyres on your car
parked so close to the water.
Seagulls fly overhead with nowhere to go
and nowhere they need to have been.
The windows rolled up tight
and the engine pumping carbon monoxide into your lungs.
Your head slumped across the wheel,
the horn ringing solemnly.
such tragedy in serenity
such serenity in tragedy
Moments captured in photographs.
You with a smile
and the sun setting behind you,
casting an eerie redness on everything
such tragedy in serenity
such serenity in tragedy
The waves roling wearily onto the sand
then gently receeding to come back later,
occasionally they come close enough
to lap at the tyres on your car
parked so close to the water.
Seagulls fly overhead with nowhere to go
and nowhere they need to have been.
The windows rolled up tight
and the engine pumping carbon monoxide into your lungs.
Your head slumped across the wheel,
the horn ringing solemnly.
such tragedy in serenity
such serenity in tragedy
untitled
* these pieces are from several years ago at university, presented as a way of charting the changes in my writing, and re-evaluating pieces I was very happy with at that stage.
She is a slut,
whenever we have sex
she pretend's I'm someone else;
The handsom millionaire,
The burly fireman,
The wild rock musician.
I, on the other hand, love to make love to her.
No imagined Playboy bunny
or inflated Baywatch babe.
Just her on the matress on the floor.
My eyes run over her,
perfect imperfections.
I taste her breath
thick with the flavour of ashtray.
Everything she can't see in me
I see in her.
She hates me, but when
she finds herself alone
she runs to me and I
smooth the worry from her hair,
flutter butterfly kisses across her forehead
and she says she loves me.
Her love, like her happiness
is a lie.
In the morning she will fly away,
my heart and wallet go with her
both to return empty.
When I close my eyes
I still see her,
life trickling from her wrists
like that time I found her.
How can I feel so much
for someone who feels so little?
Her suicide would have been painless,
the release she wanted so much.
But mine is agony,
as the steel parts my flesh
I know I'll never see her again
but it's better than the torture of loving her.
She is a slut,
whenever we have sex
she pretend's I'm someone else;
The handsom millionaire,
The burly fireman,
The wild rock musician.
I, on the other hand, love to make love to her.
No imagined Playboy bunny
or inflated Baywatch babe.
Just her on the matress on the floor.
My eyes run over her,
perfect imperfections.
I taste her breath
thick with the flavour of ashtray.
Everything she can't see in me
I see in her.
She hates me, but when
she finds herself alone
she runs to me and I
smooth the worry from her hair,
flutter butterfly kisses across her forehead
and she says she loves me.
Her love, like her happiness
is a lie.
In the morning she will fly away,
my heart and wallet go with her
both to return empty.
When I close my eyes
I still see her,
life trickling from her wrists
like that time I found her.
How can I feel so much
for someone who feels so little?
Her suicide would have been painless,
the release she wanted so much.
But mine is agony,
as the steel parts my flesh
I know I'll never see her again
but it's better than the torture of loving her.
Sea of Words
* these pieces are from several years ago at university, presented as a way of charting the changes in my writing, and re-evaluating pieces I was very happy with at that stage.
Drowned and swallowed
phrases and syllables,
only breathing through the
grace of the boyant imagination
of a million writers
draining the sea of it's words,
leaving me only precious few
for my own.
I gathered them together
and fashioned this tale,
promising to return them to
the sea of words
when I was done
so a million others may drown.
Drowned and swallowed
phrases and syllables,
only breathing through the
grace of the boyant imagination
of a million writers
draining the sea of it's words,
leaving me only precious few
for my own.
I gathered them together
and fashioned this tale,
promising to return them to
the sea of words
when I was done
so a million others may drown.
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