Still Loving

The quiet eye

underestimates

our ankles,

soft against

each other;

 

idles in

the under-

ground tavern

I sweep

in my mind,

deep into corners

and back

caressing

the wall.

 

I see

mid-tones

and heavy

jaws of the dark;

a few words

sifted, careless.

I’ve seen them.

 

I’ve seen you,

fly into a

man’s eye

and out again;

nearing the rope

I keep

in the cupboard.

 

Distant now;

a thousand

coloured balls

spin

across the

pupil.

 

Out of the room

I see you – white;

splash a bee

on the brick-work,

kick on your back

and see me

at the window.

 

14 February, 2018

Curtain

You might trace

the eye-sockets

of enemies

 

settled in the folds;

curious samples of feet

– the duck

 

or elephant tramping off

the hem of the cliff.

I loathe a modern home

 

set to cream on cream;

a sterile soap pinching

corners; eyes have

 

no place to comb.

I like these cheap hotel

designs; the remnant bins

 

a hive of animates.

 

5 February, 2018

Sunday Float

Hungry for this seal at the ears,

I roll in the pool.

 

It’s long since I shut you out,

tipped my face to the sky

and swooned.  I hear

 

the dry spheres of my breath.  Only,

 

under me: the avalanche aisles

sweep; and the graze of the whale,

less ethereal in the flesh of open sea,

 

terrifies – sepulchral, and metal-grey.

I remember now, it broke skin

to the left of me – I wasn’t afraid

 

but that was a dream; the symbol:

life, conquered there

at the strange pier;

 

and me in the water – bleak as it was –

without blood.

 

February 5th, 2018

 

I am sorry

 


 

I am sorry
I don’t want to stand still
I want to begin to crawl
And walk, run and jump
But the sinking sand stops me
Me and all of my stars high in the heavens.
I am sorry
My heart is weak and I am weak without a heart
My lungs fill with toxic air
Air I must escape from. A distant dream lost in my imagination
I am sorry
I’ve lost the days and months and years to be what I’ve should have been
I am young and hidden
Hidden behind a cloak, my true belonging invisible.
I am sorry
A shy, enclosed caterpillar wanting to change
A mature young adult desperate to catch
Catch a shooting star going places beyond the skies
I am sorry
Future self
Please forgive
My ignorance
Your regret
My mistakes
Your memories
And
Our missing chance
I am sorry

A poem by Origin8

Me; Orator

Tell me, stranger

–  your eye amplifies me –

Are my words away though,     as I hear them?

blown out      damp as the night air.

 

It’s owned in my brain; tight

until I speak             and ooze.

An ear of mine cranes, in exile – a dog.

It can     not    near    the master’s voice

 

that creeps    and climbs    and peaks

at the white hair of your temple.

Still-life

Will stay

 

but not fight

embarrassment

in the lewd sun.

 

Bring down infamous rain;

the fingernail and the boot.

 

I will sit here. Tender.

 

But a still-life is a dead thing.

I saw one sit and never breathe again.

 

I paint corpses,

apples and such,

 

and the red ones dance

like they were paid.

 

It’s all in the head.  They are dead.

And roll off the stage.

 

Feb 26