Last morning
It's not the clouds
That make the shapes,
I think, it's our minds, and
I don't want to leave.
I like living here.
I'll miss this,
Waking to the instant calm of water,
The gentle rustle of trees
(I can't work out what kind),
The one closest to me
A patchwork
In shades of grey,
Bark peeling away and healing
Around old scars.
Three strong arms
Reach far beyond
My third-floor window.
And if I look straight up
The newest leaves
Are waving.
Sunday, 31 July 2011
Monday, 25 July 2011
Seat reservations
Seat reservations
I am self-enclosed,
-contained, -sufficient; this is
A somehow pleasing pretence
For an afternoon spent
On a train to London Euston
In the company of strangers.
Unknown faces,
Solitary, mainly, gaze
Headphoned and mobile-phoned
Through windows,
Eye each other vaguely,
Muse on other lives, played out
In other places.
That pair of shoes,
His hairstyle,
Her tone of voice,
My secret smile,
Each reserved space seems momentarily to belong
To an individual, distinct
Self-contained Someone.
Also published at Middlebrow Magazine.
I am self-enclosed,
-contained, -sufficient; this is
A somehow pleasing pretence
For an afternoon spent
On a train to London Euston
In the company of strangers.
Unknown faces,
Solitary, mainly, gaze
Headphoned and mobile-phoned
Through windows,
Eye each other vaguely,
Muse on other lives, played out
In other places.
That pair of shoes,
His hairstyle,
Her tone of voice,
My secret smile,
Each reserved space seems momentarily to belong
To an individual, distinct
Self-contained Someone.
Also published at Middlebrow Magazine.
Saturday, 23 July 2011
Saying goodbye
Saying goodbye
Saying goodbye
Makes part of me inside
Go blind.
All week I knew this was coming:
I've been slowly turning
Away, busy humming
To stop myself looking
At the door I've sealed off
Somewhere in my mind.
On one side, there are feelings.
I'm not dealing
With those; I'm smiling
A false smile, thinking
False thoughts
That can't stop
Or settle anywhere,
Until I open the door and
You're not there.
Saying goodbye
Makes part of me inside
Go blind.
All week I knew this was coming:
I've been slowly turning
Away, busy humming
To stop myself looking
At the door I've sealed off
Somewhere in my mind.
On one side, there are feelings.
I'm not dealing
With those; I'm smiling
A false smile, thinking
False thoughts
That can't stop
Or settle anywhere,
Until I open the door and
You're not there.
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