Ignorance

Oh joy
with sarcasm in my voice
I resound false praise
for the ignorant
who choose to mark the lives of others
and make them feel small
and worthless
all for their own
egotistical 
back slapping
congratulatory
self worth
oh how far shall you fall
one day
when you are seen through
like a pane of glass
shatter you to shards of nothing
left to nothing
for nothing
did this ever cross your mind

Why do I

Why
do I
question myself
things in my life
those around me
destiny
fate
life
why do I
struggle with things
I cannot change
refuse to change
can change
me
him
them
why do I
suppress
my emotions
thoughts
beliefs
for everyone else
no one else
even me
why do I
wish
want
hope
but never act
until time decides for me

Love blooms

Love blooms
on a summers day
takes hold of me
invades my senses
perfumed sweet as a rose
summer breeze
and sickly sweet
I walk in a haze
ballooned in my own dream
of you
of that moment
eyes met
body ached for your touch
teasingly close
yet so far
left me weak
and wanting more
love blooms
on a cold winters day
drawing me further down
binding my hands
heavy at my sides
and there you were
holding out your arms
willing me to move
and never leave

Fading time

Struggles for breathe
heart pumps
blood makes its way around
not enough
pressure builds slowly
life seeps
from his eyes
glazed over
losing time
life lost
too young
in a shell
that screams for more
that will never come

Wrapped in cotton wool

I wrap my heart in cotton wool
to hold all those memories dear
near me
for another time
when I am all alone
and locked within the confines of my mind
ease them
treasure them
bide the time
I know will come
remembering that smile
his kiss
that embrace
when I am all alone
that time
that has no time
holds no significance in my life
any more
but those memories

The sea

Waves high encase me
and I am free
to sink in salt cushion
padded onging
drags me down
too weak
am I
to fight
so I'll become
food
scavenged by the lowest sea life
grazing in the sand
high above
heavens burst
baptism of pure water
baths my soul
alas
too late I fear

Just me and my five speed

Gonna take the next exit
on a vast empty road
north
black tar
salt eroded banks
stale, dry vegetation
nothing here
but sun
and road
and more road
music blaring
singing in my out of tune
voice
loud
no one to hear me
not even birds
in the sky—
just me and my five speed
old rust bucket

sputtering in tune

Grey plumes

Old man wakes
to an empty house
in his mind—
he screams,
silence!
I am trying to sleep
once—
old man sips tepid coffee
in an old enamel cup
on its side; MM
how is she?
auburn locks flowing in the breeze
little M—
old man dresses
stained
threadbare shirt
tattered pleated pants; creased
long ago—
she took care with his clothes
darling love—
how long has it been?
old man walks

Oh, sweet

Hear that—
the sound of innocent
unabashed
uncontained
laughter
spreading wildly through my body
contagious laughter
oh, how sweet the sound
of freedom—
see that—
unadulterated
unconformist
undiluted
passion
tingling body
oh, sweet love
how I long for you
touch that—
heart
body
mind
spirit
until we part

In this manner we move forward

I am a believer of tomorrows
of new beginnings
new endings
wings spread
to fly through new horizons
trepid feet in ice-cold water
the sun's rays upon my back
I am the epitome of forgiveness
black
hard
cold sins—
there is a method in my forgiveness
all for tomorrow
blank page
new book
I am a giver of all things—
love
life
memories
I am
you are
in this manner we move forward

When you see him

When you see him
and he still has that effect
of stopping you in mid strid
and your breathe
stills comes in quick succession
your heart does a tango
your palms itch
sweat
and feel cold all at once
this is when you know
that this is what love
feels like
should be—
you can't imagine tomorrow
without him in it
you can't imagine mornings
without him wrapped in your arms
you can't imagine days
without hearing his voice
and you can't remember life
without him ever in it

There must be a time

There must be a time
when no one watches me
listens to my every word
where I can be me
and no one questions
why

I hear

I hear the music
the rustle of the leaves
the sound of birds
this is the calming
of a cold soul
the beating of a heart
that beats for nothing
I hear a tune
in the mildest of breezes
inhale—
get my fix
to go on
with mundane activities
I hear a sonnet
in words as they
come out of a child's mouth
innocent
unsure
mixed with naivety
I hear the music
when all else fails me
I hum in tune
just to get by—
this is life

Life is a rehearsal

They say each day is a small journey through your life
I say each day is a rehearsal for tomorrow
tomorrow—will be the day you get things right
you’ll remember all those things you wanted to say to that one person
you’ll take the other road to work to avoid the traffic
you’ll get up that ten minutes earlier
and go to bed after you completely finish that movie
you’ll have that other glass of red before it turns
stop by that new cake shop and buy that cake you drooled over
catch up for that lunch you keep promising your friend
finish reading the book that’s sitting on your bedside table
and tell the one you love, that you do—
They say each day is a preview of tomorrows
shake it up a little,
you’ll be surprised,
there's always tomorrow
live it well

Open your eyes

Lay down, close your eyes—
remember the last time
you;
frolicked through long grass
ate ice-cream straight from the container
danced the Macarena
or Hoki Poki
or did the twist,
rode a bike with no hands
ran naked through a sprinkler
did a bomb off a diving board
screamed at the top of your lungs
sang along to your favourite Abba song
or stayed up all night
then get up,
open your eyes
and
l
i
v
e

Wilted peonies

Actors on a stage
badly painted back drop
of a river and trees
an empty park
an empty chair—
old leather boots beneath
and a script that requires no talent
no emotion
no voice—
the curtain closes
and the actors bow,
the audience erupts, for a standing ovation
the lead actress, wipes her eye and clutches her bouquet
of wilted peonies and pansies and leaves
and in the green room
nails bitten to the quick,
the writer stares into his own empty eyes
and wonders when things got this bad