Tuesday, 2 June 2015

Guests

any day now
the demons will come home
chasing me through the forest
knocking at my door
and i will welcome them
they'll make themselves at home
stretching out on the sofa
curling up on the floor
they'll drink water from the refrigerator
snack on chocolate from the biscuit tin
they'll pluck my precious hibiscus
and call themselves my kin.
neighbours won't see them
lolling on my bookshelf
they'll look at me and wonder as always
about the world in which i dwell.
but the demons they see me
they know that i know they're there
i do not repel them
quite the opposite in fact.
they wear colours of my disappointments
the fabric of my failed romance
they smile the smile of knowing
knowing they will always care.
the demons have come knocking
and i have willingly let them in
slowly they take over my day my life
all together now, fin.

Tuesday, 7 April 2015

Once and for all

unfinished business sets my teeth on edge
makes me dysfunctional like you wouldn't believe.
makes me numb even dead.
the confrontations the anger the anger the speed
these are the stuff of my dreams
when conversation flows to and fro
and I want to hide but have nowhere to go
that's when I am most alive.
these loose ends need definite trimming
chopping hacking killing
this bastard heart promiscuous in its will
will stay still even
if i have to hack it up
i will.
one conversation one letter one text
one post one blog one note and all the rest
loose ends unfinished business and these matters unsaid
when I am done with you
the past will truly be dead.

Tuesday, 18 November 2014

Eggs

even the most hard boiled man
fried in the heat of a no-frills space 
filled with memories and promises of babies 
who need to be coddled 
is scrambled like a well-made breakfast. 
his wife is cooking for them a delicious worrisome omelette 
that's been basted in an impersonal i- can't- be- bothered 
industrial steel kitchen
full of poached dreams and aspirations 
and devilled by an addled brain. 
unwilling children are smoked out by the tantalizing promise
of life always being a sunny side up experience. 
baked into all this is expectations
of familial duty and requirements for lineage. 
the man is merely soft boiled 
his role not as essential as the woman's. 
he is a supplier at best 
but if not him
any tom bansi or benedict would do. 
as long as the supply hits the bulls eye 
how does it matter who's doing the giving ?
shirred into submission 
pickled into passivity 
scalloped by sacred texts 
bodies now obey not each other's rhythms
but that of society's.
scotch helps 
sex obviously has not.

eggs, anyone?

All about the good news

forced friendships fade with fierce foetal heartbeats.
the air is pregnant with families in waiting
and dreams in flight
dynasties want to be alive to fight
an unwinnable battle against the indifferent times
this is where dreams come to die.
work. love. liberation. life.
this is where dreams come alive.
family. birthday baking. festivals. being a mother and wife.
the man walks busily. a son on his mind.
the woman is pain-filled and ponderous
she's with her kind.
a young couple waits in zebra stripes and shorts
a woman with an evil eye charm
is bejewelled and much sought
after by a doting husband who holds
her file
i see him worried even when she smiles.
self conscious men wait in chairs. 
papers magazines and patience.
their wives are inside getting tests
to determine their future vocation.
there is suppressed desperation in the air the chairs and everywhere
but time is of the essence the children can't wait
make haste. 
don't let the eggs go

waste.

Wednesday, 15 October 2014

My kind of math

two hands but not mine
ten fingers but not yours
two tongues   you understand
legs entangled  how else can it be
twenty four hundred strands of hair drape across your chest
fingers tries to forget themselves in me
breaths toomany toofast to count
dreams are disparate and differential
emotions are tangential   even a null equation
the unknowns play algebra in the heart

sometimes math can be magical.

Tuesday, 12 August 2014

The Soldier's Wife

Today i mourn an unborn child
he’d have my words
and your many-layered smile
he’d carry an entire village in his head
and wear a slew of medals across his strong chest.
my child would walk mountains with particular ease
and words and music will make his special feast
and he’d like to argue but also to stay calm
and when he’d hug you, why, you’d always stay warm.
yes, my child he’d have stars in his eyes
and a spirit that never says die
and a moodiness that’s yours as much as it’s mine
and a constant craving for the simple life.
maybe he’d write
no, he absolutely will
seeing what brought us together
words will enthral him
keep him still
ah that child of mine
would change you
in so many ways
and so today
i mourn my unborn child
and also, perhaps, my unborn life.

Monday, 31 March 2014

Mountain Pass

everywhere i went you haunted me
and now among the many shades of green
finally i am free
of your ghost and your need.
this is how it comes to pass
in bright autumnal colours
and with the majesty of a many tongued waterfall
it disappears in the oppressive crush of people
who follow nothing except their own hearts.
their hearts cause traffic jams and irate passengers and create a mood that does not bode well for a mending heart.
so amidst the generous display of what the world had to offer in green and greed,
in people and plants,
in water and wanderers,
i let go of you.
wander my restless heart.
breathe deep of the raw fragrance that punctuates the air like an exuberant exclamation point.
search for your own self and soul.
and when you know, just let go.