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…

 

 

 

*Artemis and the Moon

** 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…

The neighbour

Closed fists with
                            nothing in his hands but
the dirt under his nails.
 
He tries to restrain himself yet
the eyes betray. The eyes always betray.
 
Loneliness, fear, confusion, repression:
they decay & the rotten
fruit grows the mould of aggression.
 
All living things deserve sympathy
in one way or another
 
but we should not mistake this
                                                         for permission.
 

It is September.
 

The apples will not stay ripe forever.

Persevere

“…poetry makes nothing happen: it survives” -W.H. Auden

For J

The wish to kiss your eyelids &
                                lift
that heavy weight of images
living beneath,
                forever haunting you.

You’re no Princess & I’m
                        no Knight:

I cannot rescue you &
                    you can’t rescue me.

Yet,

    I still so madly want to believe
“I am with you / and know how it is”*.

I know nothing of your suffering,
                                only
that yours leaves scars & so do mine.

I’ve nothing left to write about, except
                                the dream
that will not leave me:

a Guillotine quick & clean,
the blade
         glistening
in the most golden
morning light we’ve ever seen in our lives,
leaving only beauty behind,
                            even
the beauty of suffering.

Until all that remains are the memories
that help you to

perservere.