Persevere

“…poetry makes nothing happen” -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.

 

 

We were in the sunlight

& then when
            I awoke
the morning light made me choke as
I remembered
how the gentle susurration blended
with the birdsong & the light
curved like the branches above us
to touch.
        briefly,
skin within which poison blends with pollen
& flowers blossom before I pluck them
to place in your hair where
they will wither & die.

The past still lingers in the present,
& refuses to die with the grace
of living things.

Is this why I regret everything?

Broken corollas

For D

Pressing flowers between the pages of
stolen poetry books,
                    not knowing
or caring
how long the process took,

if it would work or just cover us
in the evanescing colours
of broken corollas…

Gladly wasting away the day
we’d discussed stolen poetry books &
                    plucked flowers;
distinctions & equivalence;
the thrill of transgression,
the ambiguity of possession.

Currents of nuance ran through us
as consequence of curvatures
            in time;
of our spines &
            invisible lines

where the light bends, blends & divides.

When the flowers faded &
                    dried,
we knew wasted time is not a wasted life,
only
that our ideas about true beauty
make it hard to live…

but if you promise to stay
I'll promise not to leave.