A small collection of poems, with original artwork, is now available to buy here: https://wordsforghosts.com/book/
There is also a free downloadable PDF version available.
All money raised will be donated to Spirit of the Rainbow Heron.
Janus
The Janus face spits as a knife
penetrates just beneath the ribs,
drags a deep diagonal from
heart to liver,
& the organs slither
onto the floor:
Tasseography as grotesquerie;
desecrating rivers of gold,
watching as you piss into the ocean…
You’ve learnt nothing.
Still hiding behind the second person,
still lost in
the hall of mirrors,
oblivious
to the stench left behind;
walking away,
closing your eyes,
pretending that you’re blind;
that symbolic sacrifice will suffice.
So like a coward
you disappear
as penance
& fuck up the last line
again.
Consequence
The consummation of
sorrow & regret
of impulse & blind intent,
the attempt
to escape
makes the mistake
of believing that things we leave behind
will somehow change
or else disappear completely
when finally we
return:
the
gentle susurration
of bad-faith held
to itself & nothing else,
excuses
running too thin;
the hideous birth
of conjoined twins,
who want only to be loved,
& are as beautiful
as they are ugly,
just like us.
Either/Or
These trees swaying
in the wind; whispered
strange communication between
the unseen,
green
above & soil beneath; a gift given
from one to the other, not
simply objects but
their shadows;
the echo
of absence within presence.
The weight
of silence
behind words that define us, thoughts
now flowing forward surround us
like pollen, like fallen
seeds:
a vast symmetry of blossoming energy.
We speak of the life we had, of
the one we now have &
those we still want all
suspended at once.
One choice must destroy the others
& yet
in this moment
the scent
of each other
as it lingers
upon us
is all
that matters,
& the rest
cannot be expressed…
Derangement
I’ve felt the soft surface of temporal fabric,
watched the world begin to fold
small then
smaller &
smaller…
seen
organic origami elide
into water,
rearing over what remained of
what was no longer me.
After
electrical screams;
nameless incandescence
& sound waves of colour,
cold feathers began folding down,
down,
down.
Inside
nothing remained but space & light,
a deep divide
between body & mind,
a
quick flicker of panic
as all thought plunged into ice…
then it didn’t matter whether
I lived or died,
what I
try to write
or if I
write
nothing
at all.
Persevere
“…poetry makes nothing happen: it survives” -W.H. Auden
For J
A wish to kiss your eyelids &
lift
the heavy weight of images
hidden beneath,
torturing you.
Guillotine quick & clean
the blade
glistening
in the most golden morning light
we’ve ever seen in our lives,
nothing but beauty would survive;
but
light without darkness means nothing,
so maybe joy needs suffering.
Is there even any memory you
would want to lose?
Regardless, this
poem is impotent
& yet still it persists:
the wish
to take those heavy images
& leave you only with those that help you
to persevere.
