Window

Tags

, , , , , , , , , , , , , , ,

With a sideways glance

you longingly

for something new to happen

out of the stained window

 

or at least

for the world outside

to be a different shade of blue

a better shade

to fight off your darkness,

 

or a newer light

to enter your life,

that love that once was

needs rekindling.

 

You hug yourself tighter

into the chair

while longing eats away

and the record player

stops playing your favourite song.

Advertisements

Shell

Tags

, , , , , , , , , , ,

As the dust settles in

to cracks

that were only drearily taped over,

the shell starts to look

a fraction of what it was

 

yet it is still flimsy

held together

but the tape won’t last forever.

 

When the light of the world

shines on the weary shell,

it’s clear the discolour

won’t fade

after too long,

 

and all that’s left

will simply wash away.

Imagination

Tags

, , , , , , , , , , , , , , , , ,

In the morning

you drank tea

with one and a half

sugars, and a splash

of milk,

whilst you sat down

dressing-gowned

on the sofa, waiting

for brunch.

 

I, dressed in shorts,

would serve eggs

on toast,

with rashers of bacon,

sunny-side up

to make you smile.

 

We’d eat

at our little table for two

placed against the wall

the record player

spinning behind us.

 

Once full and brunched

we’d laze on the sofa

catch-up tv

read the paper

then take a walk.

 

Only this is just my imagination

set into motion

as I sit at a little table for two

alone, no record playing.

Turn to normal.

Tags

, , , , , , , , , , , , , , , , ,

Under a twilight glow

your eyes sparkled

as we trudged the leaf-strewn path

 

fighting mosquitoes

as we talk

by the shimmering lakeside

where a heron is perched

amongst trees.

 

After resting on a bench

we carry on

and the path unfolds ahead,

a green mottled signpost

points arrows.

 

It’s safe to say

there’s too much to go the wrong way.

Let’s turn to normal

and leave it all behind.

Background

Tags

, , , , , , , , , , , , , , ,

I’m here

in the background,

faded into the wallpaper,

out of sight

but still in mind

 

lingering on

waiting for you

to call.

 

I’m not in the foreground,

there is no presence

I’m not worth

the allotted space or time,

 

so I’ll continue

to linger alone.

Passing days

Tags

, , , , , , , , , , , , ,

In the corner of my eye

I see the shaft of light

creep and edge

over my outstretched legs

in faded jeans,

and along the laminate flooring.

 

It reminds me of the clock

which I take to look,

wondering if the hands ever move.

 

In mornings I wake stuck

in routine, in place.

At work I don’t even consider

anything else on my mind.

In the afternoons I return

to doing nothing in place.

 

Now I realise its been a while,

I pick up the remote

and change the channel,

but I’m just passing days.

Tempus vincit omnia

Tags

, , , , , , , , , , , ,

As the same with leaves,

things fall

branches break

and discolour sets in.

 

As with the old child size bike

left out too long,

the rust takes over

and sets in to brakes.

 

As with paint on window frames,

the cracks begin to appear

and flakes the white

into the wind.

 

As with the wind chime hanging

in the garden from the pergola,

it rattles unheard

again.

 

As with flowers

left by the grey carved stone,

the petals drop and decay,

tempus vincit omnia.

night drive

Tags

, , , , , , , , , , , , , , , ,

you woke up

at 2 am

said “I can’t sleep,

lets go for a drive”

 

so I took us

on a drive out west

your feet on the dash

while you gaze

out of the window

 

watching stars at night

while I focus on the headlights

we curved on empty roads

and carried on

until you were ready

 

to lay your head back down

without a sound.

Compass and a storm

Tags

, , , , , , , , , , , , , , , , , , , , ,

You could be my compass

and I’ll sail through a storm

as long as the needle

keeps pointing

homeward north.

 

You could be my rudder

to steer me against

crashing waves,

they’ll wash over me

but I wont feel pain.

 

You could be the lookout

atop a sturdy mast

guiding me past rocks,

lead me to your promised land

make this journey last.

 

 

But you were the storm

and threw yourself on my ship,

your lightning cracked

against my mast,

tore apart the sails

and left them fluttering in the wind,

blasted me to the deck

with waves that nearly broke my neck,

and you washed me overboard

the compass now sinking.