untold

Have you or have I
rewritten the story?
I recall like yesterday
How I recoiled
How he called you out
How you insisted, then persisted and convinced, yourself
How I went along,
against all my instincts
because I wanted to destroy something that night
Because the one that should have stepped in, hadn’t
Because I should have asked him to
Because he shouldn’t have had to Because I shouldn’t have had to ask
Mostly, because all that came since was born of your love and my spite
Oh, what a story it would make

vestiges

Vestiges shorn from my dreams
rise like phantom limbs
unveiling their legacies
Slightly more bent over,
one leg shorter,
I eventually circle round
to make the same mistakes
only with more weight
to my now uneven gait
But wait, I’m not done
choking back that song
I should have sung as
out of tune as your face
hung below the new moon
that drew my attention
More than you ever would

rations

There’s not much left to say
in these warm September days
when we’ve harvested
the best of what we laid
and picked the weeds
to clear the way for winter

How long will it take
before we’re done
making meagre feasts
of memory’s rationed remains
leaving little to sustain us
in the silent snow to come
but idle talk of fall
and gathered grains
and waiting for spring rains
to begin planting again
though we know
some things flower
only once, if ever at all

if one day

And if one day, had we time
and cause enough
to meet and sit again
On such a day, the sun
would hang bloated,
steaming heat in a humid haze
so that moving, touching
would be unthinkable
There would be crows’ cawing,
pecking at the silence,
water flowing to fill time,
and trees huddling
to hide us from view
Perhaps we’d have snacks
to share or strew, or smokes,
to keep our hands busy
We’d turn off our phones
to keep us devout
And turn our eyes
to the garbage cast about –
a lone shoe – an empty bottle,
seeking something safe
to broach and spare us
choking on unprepared thoughts,
and over-rehearsed phrases
We might chatter about the weather, or that last episode,
too emphatically,
relieved to agree
or of someone
neither of us has seen since
There would be a breeze
to lift our scent
and bridge that gap
our gaze will not dare span
And it would settle on our skin
like the sunlight steeping
through the leaves, teasing
of what we lost along the way

---

Seems I’ve made it to No. 45 of Feedspot’s top 75 poetry blogs. I’m not sure what their criteria are, there are a few really good poetry blogs on that list worth checking out.

click

I don’t know how or when
it dawned on me
Maybe it was all those questions
ignored or answered too quickly,
or worse, those never asked
Maybe it was the guiltless confessions
and the lack of traces
or the blank silence
when all else failed
Alright, it was the craftless selfie
framed with such disregard
for the object
and the viewer
it revealed everything

so much less

They say that the total
is worth more than its parts
you proved them to be wrong
your lips were worth more
than the kiss they formed
your tongue worth more
than its words
your shoulders’ curves more
than the pride they held high
your smile more
than the thoughts it belied
the lines of your torso
and shape of your spine
more than the lengths
to which they would go
to prove that the heart
that beat so loud and strong
wasn’t just for show

originally posted on jotnrot June 15, 2017

this day is not for us

This day is for roses
tended
clipped and gathered
presented and preserved
worth less living than dried
in a perfect still life

not for dandelions
sprung
unwanted and hushed
weeded and snuffed
only to rage wildfires
round the rim of our lives

So today let us gaze
upon our roses
as they wilt
and are hung to keep
and pull the blinds
on the expanse
where dandelions sleep
until blazing, they again invade
our righteous dreams of spring

on any day

I marvel at contrasts
lull over dirt
admire the patterns
left by rust
I clear the clutter
focus on points
feast on colour
connect the dots
I look behind
savour the best
then look ahead
to face the worst

And all the countless
in betweens
I try to fill
with endless reams
of lists of things
that I should do
All to stopper
thoughts of you

odds

They say I’m cold
but I’m just old
not easily moved
by beats oversold
I bide my time
and hold out to find
the rhythm to make me
shake and unwind
to a place and time
where nothing matters

Rats scurry by
the idle chatter
of plans laid in the dark
only to shatter
when the morning comes

But I’m the keeper of secrets
the stasher of lies
I hold them neatly folded
pressed tight to my side

Though they be small
their weight is immense
they pull on my skin
and on my bones
until I hone my senses
enough to remember
only bets against the odds
count as a win

Though I thought
my heart would splinter
seems I’ve made it
through winter
still I’m only tinkering
with the thought
of letting go

So I place my chips
on red again
though everything is black
and nothing seems
even to hint
of colours coming back

sweet n sour

Last night I dreamt
you asked me to hold you
and I ardently tried my best
You lay so still as if fulfilled
had I but been someone else