A small collection of poems, with original artwork, is now available to buy here: https://wordsforghosts.com/book/
There is also a downloadable PDF version available
All money raised will be donated to Spirit of the Rainbow Heron.
Poetry
“Words are beautiful” Che said “but actions
are meaningful”.
Defiant to the end,
before a bullet broke through his skull.
The man of action reduced to such beautiful
last words:
“You cannot kill a revolution!”
Or is that just a myth,
am I remembering it wrong
as I have done
so many times
(too many times)
when
we spent those stolen moments together?
Why am I writing poetry
while you are on the other side of the
city,
living a better life without words like
these:
only noise thrown into the void,
another waste waiting
for rejection.
Why did I choose words
over actions?
Tell a truth, or tell a lie
I get hammered, forget you exist / there’s no way I’m forgetting this”*
That city turning pink
in the sun’s slow descent;
the night air still vibrant
yet gentle now
as if
in its old age the day
had finally found a way to be kind
& calm without losing all passion for
the fire
of summer;
your hair, shed like feathers discovered in
my bed,
a mess of tresses untangled
& tangled again.
Now all only a memory
of a scent & the slope of your shoulders
at 5 a.m in the morning;
at 5 a.m in the morning;
photographs of long lost days
when we still adored each other,
before the decay became
before the decay became
poison:
the silence, the speech, the years of peace
& warmth
& war
& lies
& tired eyes
& not fucking any more
& bored
so bored
of the performativity;
another
dancing monkey
out of sync with the organ grinder;
a comedy without laughter,
a tragedy without despair,
only anger.
All this & more now lives below
a gravestone with no
a gravestone with no
inscription,
our dream decaying
beneath the surface.
* Scott Huchison
Artemis and the Moon*
No more the warmth of your smile
waiting for me
behind
the door or
between the sheets; sharing body heat;
blood pulsing, hearts, random hearts beating
for each other in a cruel, cruel world**.
No more silences,
either callous or beautiful.
No more Blue-john stones & those future dreams
we
always secretly knew would never come
true.
No one knows who put the ice-pick through
the skull of Brontsein
& only we
know how it ended…
let us keep our secret, please, leave me
to my dreams
while you escape your fate
& be gifted that which you always
wanted
& History can be re-written…
** Randon Hearts -Laura-Jane Grace
Lost
The reasons why
hide
& you don’t try to find them.
Blind
instinct guides
& elides through space & time
until
you no longer know
how it is
that you find yourself
in this
dark forest.
A painting or a stain
Viscous to liquid, now dissipating
into nothing;
colours fading from the imposing painting
of the future now no longer
still in progress.
No more changes, no new creations
only the repetition of all that
always leaves you back where you began, yet
if the colours begin to brighten again
as always they have
eventually;
when the flames flare & the embers turn
to a fire fierce & dangerous,
perhaps
the painting will be beautiful again;
perhaps
you will change…
