Wilting Lilies

wilting lilies by the bath room window,

pale yellow light seeps through to kiss the sill,

is it enough to stop the dying from being dead?

enough to wet the cracks in the harsh soil?

a muffled buzzing somewhere inside,

something has not yet felt or noticed,

a mirror with no onlooker is exactly that,

a room inside a room besides itself,

look there through the hissing mist,

naked and revealed it must be truth,

towel on the floor hardly worth a mention,

under garments asunder like stepping stones,

welcoming even to an unseen stranger,

scum down the sink hole round it goes,

what could have been – forgotten,




Talking Shadows

I talk in shadows that swarm and bulge,

Wet in sentiments, awkward and loud,

I have things to say that clink and clang,

The type to think before I understand,

Feel a brick covered in stinky feathers,

Ping an unlikely thought with pink edges,

A wonderfully real treat of thumping fun,

Something I feel jumping on my tongue,

I’ll lend an ear to my own airy delight,

Tasting with cannibal glee not very light,

To hear what I say is contritely only as is,

No different from a coldly delivered kiss,

On a wide slab of skin as dry as cement,

Not even quenched a bit while I lament,


Screaming Crimson

Screaming crimson lips dried of sugared words,

A barren stretch of cracked volcanic surface, kissed by thirst,

From deep in its hollows ready to burst,

To feed or drink the heaviness is purpose, a wretched curse,

The voice of the mind a shuddering lightening,

Instant flashes qualms screeching in the shadows, surely frightening,

A thundering on deaf ears that reprimands politely,

Behaviours reigning wild in unspoken shallows, the intentions biting…

Black Swan II

There’s a sign by the water that says “No Swimming – Here”, a sign that for the most part goes unnoticed, but of course I see it because I am the only one that wades here, through these lovely waters that bring such comfort, if silence and the meaningless conjecture that fills it were anything to go by, then I’d be a whole flapping gaggle of quacking laughter, my soul snapping at an angle a hassle to look after, look…look harder at the other sign that says “Do Not Feed – Them”, them as in me, me as in mine, mine as in my…my dear feelings that bristle when called upon by any other name, for I have not named them like those rubbery things that lurk below the water, in the furthest reaches of this lonely pond, I dive for them when I’m feeling brave or ducking from fear, it is after all the same thing, to live or die, to live and die, that it something that should never be attempted to be proved otherwise…otherwise, they will all feign to look surprised, when the Black Swan surely flies, like a brown leaf on the rise, aiming to go beyond the very skies, to see what may have been mistakenly placed there…maybe a few forgotten promises…maybe a lover with a heart of diamond…maybe, maybe just, a few sprinkled stars that gaze down in wonder, at glistening eyes brimming with these briny waters that I swim in…”No Swimming – Here” the sign says, but I figure it isn’t for the likes of me, a Black Swan, that beautiful thing that really isn’t meant to be…

Black Swan

I never thought I’d never be, like this, floating on a silently rippling surface, drinking my own reflection, a travelling oddity, with a long feathered neck casting a fine head down… gazing but not seeing upon that which has been my life, my birth and rebirths through stages of being recognised, if only through closed eyes…I watched them in their waters paddling carefree, with grace and freedom, I wondered if we had been mothered, if I had been mothered by the sameness I craved that thing about a swan that makes beauty a needful habit…I gawked beyond, with an orange beak that quivered, trying to see beyond maturity at a future more fanciful, before I even understood, before I actually saw, my own nature even…in hindsight is how a Black Swan always sees…is always seen…indeed, an unlikely likelihood, the most despicable of rarities in the glare of what is known, splashing away in its own muddy pool, the circles connecting breaking each other’s cycles, fading away and yet forming new beginnings from ancient endings, just the trimmings from any lessons upon the tear resistant feelings of a good old Black Swan…with a heart of raw meat, for that it was it is, what it always was, tenderised by the briny water drops that constantly fall, from the heavens or from the depths, it doesn’t seem to really matter, good seasoning makes the pain all the more scrumptious…

Once Were



I close my mind to memories of us, once a pair,

You and I,

Like little dark footprints of children running in snow,

Chasing winds with no direction, just floating insouciantly,

There, there…gone.

The silence flaps between the folds, nothing there,

Just the dew sodden outlines of thoughts that may have been,

May have been…may, have been…

A springtime that rained whenever we beckoned,

Rivers of hope that gushed with anticipation,

Something touched in both of us,

As such it spoke to us…in hollow words, it seems,

Feels, like…bones that won’t dry out there,

In the forbidden hollows, death’s heart still dying,

Somehow…in some way…sorry…


My eyes never saw such loveliness, watching you,

Butterfly Wings,

Colouring my breathing air, giving life to a smile,

For a while these eyes, saw what they liked and liked what they saw,

It was you,

Then and never,

As it will be forever…

Unkind Kindness

You are unkind his eyes said,

Balefully through a veneer of feigned niceties,

For how can I refuse but a chunk of what he could take?

It was hardly an extremity that he demanded not scared,

But something in his face cowered with scaly ease,

As if he had seen it all both real and fake,

I had given before,

Right before those same hungry orbs,

Given a nature that less subtle would be forced,

To another that had not even thought of more,

Flesh and bone perceptions to absorb,

And each to their own of course,

But to say no when you can,

Is quite a thing to boldly fathom,

Something that scuttled through his irises,

Deeper than the dark puddle of his upturned hand,

Spoke of this, like these thoughts as I have them,

The lead in the veins as the heart silences,

Given to complexity I give when I can,

Oblivious of what I have,

Shrouded by a fitting veil with tiny holes,

Through which I spy nothing I have not stained,

Nothing I ever felt I truly had,

Nothing ever to be blamed…