small confession

I am ashamed
that I preferred you
when you were
still searching,
wavering, wondering
and becoming
rather than now
that you are
decided, defined, done
and moving on

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not today

who would want to dream
on a day like this
made for pondering
waste and decay
rather than possibilities
who would dare partake
in the birth of ideas
and formulate plans
when the rain is relentless
and the hours drain
in endless gradients of grey
where slumber is
the only ray of light
pointing the way to tomorrow

halfway there

It’s not alright, but I’m okay
I’m wading through
this soggy day
checking items that won’t wait
and prepping for that lucky break
that won’t come until too late

Outside, the leaves
dance in the wind
flitting and flittering
under city lights
like they will never
fall underfoot
to be swept away 

It’s not alright, but I’m okay
days rise late and slip away
I sit with words
tucked under my skin
the hopes they contain
seeping in, running through
flooding my dreams
with vain promises
fall, I know, will not sustain
past the first frost

coming to grips

In this house where I sit
chomping at the bit
wasting spit, talking shit
as if it matters
what I’d rather do
I’ll watch them grow
until they go
and leave this home
to crumble around
my sac of bones
rattling, prattling
of the days gone by
and how words
were my saviour
when the feast lacked flavour
how rhymes were my beat
when the weed was too weak
to get high
and the light was too dim to see
that lines needed crossing
not treading or threading
into loose weaved lies
that couldn’t hide
the dirt in those corners
no one dared reach
or the unspoken distance
that no one would breach
lest it reveal cracks
and lead to deeds
too rash and brash to retract
and go on acting
like all is just fine

time sets

This is the time of day
when the light
of inspiration
is replaced by a bulb
of annotations
listing tomorrow’s duties
when petty pinpricks of frustrations
turn to burning indignation
for giving in to expectations
only to be disappointed again

It is the time for rage
to take the shape
of something whittled
smooth and sharp
and be stuck into
our unsuspecting hearts
just to feel them skip a beat
so we’ll recall
why keep
holding on 

just rain

the rain plunks, splatters
I try to pick up a pattern
but it’s just rain
it runs, careens wreckless
down my neck yet
it’s just cold
it jabs my eyes and skin
making to soak in
but it’s just wet

tomorrow there will be
yet more wasted leaves
dead as the words
you dropped at my feet
muffling my pleas
for some sense to dispense
with this need
to come clean

threadbare

Back before
you let the rope
around my heart go slack
there was always something
to pull me forward
no matter the distance
or effort

Now it lies limp and frayed
as my intentions
I loop its weight
around my arm
and pick at loose threads
I carry their shapeless form
with no destination
And wonder at the strength
they once had united
and their frailty
in the absence of tension

oppresence

In your presence
I cannot write
I cannot read
I cannot dream
I cannot wonder
I your presence I count
hours and days
that won’t count
but will account
for the waste I leave behind
In your presence
I count the beats
that will never repeat
yet will ever be the same
In your presence I take all
and offer but remarks
of what falls
short of its mark
yet not far enough
to be ignored
In your presence
I long to lay on the ground
and let the rain
wash my remains away
leaving my soul
to seep into the ground

another season

Smiles like the weather
in late september
turn cold at a thought
one ought not remember
in a light crisp as this
where we begin to miss
the blinding heat of July
when hard as we tried
we could not imagine cold
or ever growing old
All we then wanted
we now have in droves
as we sit mulling over
shedding guilt
before October is done

Outside the trees
are thick with browning leaves
waiting for a blast
to unleash them
as wishes
aborted to the wind
and bring this lagging season
to an end

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