this spring

the buds infected
fall in failed promises
this spring will bear nought



In my efforts to cleanse
the past with time
I’m astonished to find
even ghosts
have half lives
and trace element trails
they leave
as half lies
only at dawn’s
first yawn
infecting all belief
in a new day


you’ve grown tired
and I’m growing old
and we’re both wishing
we’d been less bold
in toying with buds
back when we thought
that spring would bring
enough light
and summer enough heat
to ferment ripened dreams
into distilled desire
that we could harvest and swallow before fall’s call home
but come December
we prefer not to remember
how we failed
tumbling dismembered
only to smother the embers
of our hearts grown cold

lost poem

This poem got lost
amongst your contours
and the careless wink of your eye
It fell into a daze
and sat dumbly curled
in the corner of your smile
long before it could grip
onto the grain of the page
and make images stain
like truths

This poem is just words
gesticulating wildly
snapping into line
when it wished to be gestures
dancing in the margins
dervishly spinning spirals
boring into your core

This poem is a shivering quiver
of doodles to dispel
the fear I’ve yet again
the space around you
to make it mean more
than the emptiness it frames

it’s alright and I’m okay

It’s alright and I’m okay
I’m working through another day
Papers shuffle
Coffee flows
To look at me
No one would know
How heavy an empty heart is to tow
I double check clocks
And dates coloured in blocks
Still time and space
Confound me

I sit staring far
and unseeing
imaging the sky
a blanket we roll under
by the serated peaks
that rip up the horizon

It’s alright and I’m okay
I’ve made it through another day
Wishing I could left swipe away
This this turbid tide
Of sludge and shame
Though truth be told
I just watched it roll in
Never bold enough
To grab hold
And throw away
What will not keep
And put regrets down to sleep
Fearing when I meet my dreams
All will be plain as it seems
Devoid of any change


spring forward

The sun still low and cold
only mocks the change
spring claims to hold
and soon bring within reach
I cycle back round
to familiar ground
trampled to mud
beneath my feet
that snow promised
to wipe clean

The winds may battle
make dead leaves rattle
but they won’t sway a thing
in my direction
The pull from the roots
won’t give in to indiscretions
or attempts to resurrect
what never breathed on its own


Now get ready for the silence
In which thoughts start to brew
Get ready for the waiting
That lets raw feelings stew

As chances stumped by hurdles
Of heated innocence
And moments pure, curdle
Into knots of discontent

As sourly the high fizzles out
Dissolving cherished flavours
As what was sure turns to doubt
And determination wavers

As answers turn to questions
One dared not ask before
And all avowed intentions
Serve only to keep score

As words that overflowed go dry
And all the rhymes fumble
And hope sits startled way up high
As its perch begins to crumble

Get ready again to wonder
Who has the upper hand
And who will get sucked under
Foregoing all demands

And when the last illusion
Has finally been dispelled
The truth sits dumbly silent
For there is none to tell

Prompt: ruminate

little things

I don’t like you tonight
It may be the stars
Or the ceiling light
that’s too bright
Or my skin that’s too thin
and drawn dry and tight
But your very breath
sticks my hair on end
And my empathy won’t extend
round the bend of the bathroom door
past the socks on the floor
and the bills ignored
and all I cannot mend
as quickly as I defend lost causes
to fill up pauses
that may reveal
more emptiness
than intended

Blog at

Up ↑

%d bloggers like this: