Just another night

Bells
ding
ding
heralding another
festive night
cold winter
wrapped up warm
hot sticky summer
by the beach
minds filled with peace
bellies filled with indulgence
thoughts
promises
little do they know they'll be broken by morning
another festive season
smiles
polite
tomorrow there'll be the same loathe
Christmas time
around the world
different
yet the same
but not for all—
the little boy in the far abandoned stretch of land
waits like he does every other day
for them to come back
the little girl who calls that shack a home
waits like she does every day
for someone to bring her something to eat
and home
we laugh
exchange the gifts we laboured over to buy
and don't really care about much

Waiting by the edge

I fell off the edge of the world today
along with the poor
the malnourished
the misunderstood
surprisingly
there was a queue waiting
I thought I'd be the only one—
they were all patiently awaiting their turn
no need to hurry,
push
or cut lines
there was an almost politeness about the entire situation
chatting comfortably
language no barrier
I felt content to be there
I felt like I was home
someone offered me their story
and I listened intently
much different to my own
no one felt sorry for no one
no need really
there wasn't a priority
pats on the backs as they let go
a whoosh
a swish
and they were gone

I waited...

I waited to be noticed—
they all walked by
someone even dropped a five dollar note at my feet,
another flipped his 'NYC' cap as he sauntered by
I wasn't camouflaged, I guess
in-between the potted palms
dust bins
traffic lights,
I was still there
stuck within that place—
car horns blaring
sprukers selling
dogs barking, elated to be let off their leash

I waited to be wanted—
like the hand made silk scarves in vibrant colours from India
Manolo Blahniks, like those on that show that lady always wore
Gucci handbags, I wished I could afford
I wondered when—
I had decided
I wanted to be wanted
like some novelty
but expensive item nontheless...
when had I become a nothing
a nobody
a thing— non existent
another five dollars dropped at my feet...

Flowing Bordeaux

Quietly she sits
in her mind's eye, she replays
the events
silent
black and white movie
of a couple she doesn't recognise anymore—
last nights dishes still strewn on the table
the open bottle of Bordeaux
a '96 vintage has long since surrendered itself from the bottle
though her new Riedel glasses sit empty
overturned graceful neck
cascading burgundy
from mahogany table top
to box gum floor
pooled
like blood—
no body though
full bodied wine instead
gone to waste
evidence illustrates the tale
a happy celebration
quickly turned—
black
cusses
loud voices escalating
saturated wine seeps
disappears
outlines a map of their rage—
no amount of scrubbing will erase the stain
the scar
permanent on the floor
on her heart

Old letters

Old letters—yellowing paper
in an old shoe box
once upon a time they meant the world to her
once upon a time,
she wrote them too—
her favourite perfume sprayed on the ivory
embossed paper
and she took her time
using her best penmanship
once upon a time,
she sealed the back with an old wax seal
she found in a flea market
once upon a time
it wasn't a family heirloom
like she liked to tell everyone
no—
once upon a time,
she'd walk to the post box
and give her letter a quick peck before she dropped
it in the opening
and home she'd walk, with a smile upon her face
and every day after
she'd make the long walk to her letter box
to see whether there was a reply

soon—the letters stopped
and she stopped writing them too
and when she could bear it no more
she stopped reading the old letters
and put them in a shoe box
hid them between the old linen and woolen clothes
no one wore anymore
and there they sat
and waited
and weathered

Open bottles run dry

Charli laughs at Sarah—
one day she'll be just as pretty
she'll be just as clever,
at least that's what her mum says

David stares at Ronan—
one day he'll be just as popular
he'll get that great job,
at least that's what his wife says

Terry looks at Donald—
one day he'll be just as rich
he'll have that same respect,
at least that's what he tells himself

Yet time passes—

Charli's life goes no where
the night life was too enticing,
tracks— guide her life,
she doesn't remember the last time she spoke with her mum

David lost his somewhere along the way
his job
his wife
his sanity

Terry's time is overdue
he got onto the train too late—
got off later still
nothing left to show for it

Time passes—
memories blur
priorities change
self worth dispensed with
open bottles filled with life
run dry—

a shame there was no one left
to screw back on the lid

Death of a Father

A little girl
I was when you went away
my eyes stayed dry
my nerves—calm
all around me,
the world was crumbling down
a mourners parade—
who could cry the loudest
who could scream the loudest
I chose to be silent
I shut my lips
closed my heart
and kept it all inside
black night
starless night
comforted me
wrapped me in a silky black blanket
and lulled me into a dreamless sleep
and when morning came,
I awoke with less strength than the night before
and still walked in my weather-beaten footsteps
I had already created
and still my eyes remained dry
fingers pointed
words spoken harshly behind my back
I saw it all
heard it all
and took comfort that they were hurting for me
no one took the time
to ask me
I heard the voice inside
louder
louder it grew,
could no one hear it?
No one did,
time passed
cliche'—slowly
a Hallmark card expressed me
why couldn't those who loved me know...

Christmas time

Needle-point fingers
sweet smelling pine
adorned with baubles-
shiny green
gold
red
silver
fragile delicate cut glass of
stars
snowflakes
pretty twinkling lights
pride of place
stand tall
though, somewhere in the world
nothing to twinkle
but an incessant hunger
wishing stars seems to fall from the sky elsewhere
laden stockings
bellies full-
not another bite
yet somewhere in the world
a child begs for someone's scraps
Oh Holy night
prayers are heard-
others left
Christmas spirit
bring us all ever lasting light