Body And Mind III.

Blustery November, and all I want
.                Is to find a quiet corner of this burnt out city
.                                               Where the ashes of my past whisper in the wind
Coating the street and alleys in a thin film of memory
That must be scraped back to see the stonework underneath.

.                                But for every brick and branch I recognise, a thousand nooks and
Crannies have appeared, breaking the lines of familiarity
.                                                Making a tattered mosaic of my memory;
.                The edges flutter in the gusts, as though any one might strip
.                                The whole sheet away, and leave me with a blank slate

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Saxophone Echoes

Lamplight pools on rain spattered pavements,
Holding back winter darkness
As candles burn low, the city’s eyes closing
With every sleeping couple.

Illuminated softly,
Bathed in rippling waves of jazz
Flowing from basement bunkers
To pluck at the hearts of lonely lovers
She stands.
Shoulders hunched against November’s icy voice,
Eyes turned down to the floor, face hidden
In a thick woollen scarf.
Breath spirals through fibres in a fine mist
Wandering in to the chill of the night.
She waits.

He turns the corner,
Emerging from the black velvet of the shadows
To bathe in the lamp’s amber glow.
Tired eyes rise from the pavement,
Fixed on the approaching figure’s face
Bright with anticipation and desire

But disappointment turns them dim,
The light seeping into the chimes of midnight
Vying for supremacy with bursts of brass
Winding from the belly of the city.

He is not coming.

A sigh escapes soft lips,
In recognition of sadness, but not surprise.
Down dingy alleys she meanders
Drawn to the drums, lights, crescendos
Of the clubs, losing herself in blaring sound,
In booze, stale cigarettes and jazz.

Moonchildren

Ravenous December Chews its way through the trees Snarling at resolute pines Devouring fragile flowers, harsh winds Scouring earth of life and sound, Leaving behind only the strong and the vicious. The night draws a veil over the sea of black firs, … Continue reading

Your Greatest Fear

“I went to the woods because I wished to live deliberately, to front only the essential facts of life, and see if I could not learn what it had to teach, and not, when I came to die, discover that I had not lived.” – Henry David Thoreau

Your greatest fear, you said
Was that one day, you’d wake up
And the stars would have lost their light.
That a time would come when you were
Oblivious to the winds cool, soothing touch,
When you ignored the pleading rain on your window,
Or how hail would rattle the pane.

You would know it was over,
If you stopped reading the pain in people,
If you could walk through the world
Without seeing the colours that shimmer on the skin
Of every passerby.

It scared you most that you might be dead,
Before you ever really lived.
That your heart, would keep beating
When your soul had packed its bags,
And headed home for the winter.

So, wind in my face,
Spray on my tongue,
Armed with the courageous ignorance of youth
And the simple knowledge that I loved you, answered.

“You’re the bravest person I know.
You’ll never die. How could you?
You’ve never been afraid to live.
I’ve seen you leap from cliffs
And laugh as the icy water
Twenty feet below embraced you.
I’ve watched you stand in front of
Two hundred bored sixteen year olds
Telling them why condoms are important.
I’ve seen you love people
Who never deserved it
Forgive the man who took your trust
And ground it in to dust between
Loving hands.
All this and more
Is how I know.”

What Scared You

Your greatest fear, you said
Was that one day, you’d wake up
And the stars would have lost their light.
That a time would come when you were
Oblivious to the winds cool, soothing touch,
When you ignored the pleading rain on your window pane.

You would know it was over,
If you stopped reading the pain in people,
If you could walk through the world
Without seeing the colours that seep from the skin
Of every passerby and acquaintance.

It scared you most that you might be dead,
Before you ceased to live.
That your heart, would keep beating
When your soul had packed it’s bags,
And headed home for the winter.

So, wind in my face,
Spray on my tongue,
Armed with the unbreakable ignorance of youth
And the simple knowledge that I loved you, answered.

“You’re the bravest person I know.
You’ll never die. How could you?
You’ve never been afraid to live.”

Things That Are Not

Life is not a heartbeat monitor
Beeping insistently in the background of
Some cold clean hospital cell.
It can’t be found in the pages
Of glossy magazines,
Or the latest, greatest, most versatile
Piece of furniture from Ikea
Or whichever home improvement titan
Is currently in fashion.

But i’ll tell you what it can be.
Or at the very least,
How it seems to me.

I see life in your eyes,
As you talk to me about love
Or poetry, your passions, your fears,
Your hopes and dreams.
All of these
Make the air around you shimmer
With a vibrance that cannot be ignored.
Life is in people my dear.
Not in the beating of our hearts,
But in the way that they sing!

My Eyes (In Yours)

Would that I could see my words
On her tongue
Or my habits
In the turn of their cheek
That in the song of sound she spoke
I could hear my own melodies.

But all I see is her in me
In the way I hold my head
Or sway to the music of the world.

Would that I could mean so much
To someone worth the world to me.

Writing about writing when you’re struggling to write.

My little black book
Sits in my back pocket,
Collecting the words
That slip off my tongue.
With a little black pen
That touches my temple,
It filters a record
Of all that I see.

So I strain through the truth
In my little black book
Try to present it
So you’ll understand.

But my words are stained glass.

A fragmented picture.

They don’t quite make sense.

When you can’t see the lines.