You say ignorance is bliss,
but sometimes it’s the hiss of a gun
being reared up with thick bullets
waiting to be fired into the neat, pretty, white holes
of tasty empty heads.
Such a pretty victim, such an easy one.
But just you wait, for the blood to run down those outer city streets,
until they trail right into your home.
But they all say how juicy it is
when you get to the bone.
Such delicate marrow for teeth to sink into
as cries blow outwards.
You wanted her to call you Daddy
even though you’d never be her Father
You wanted her to be your baby girl
But all you did was push her to grow up faster
She wanted to be your Princess
Not some ragged, rotten, rascalled, enslaved
Damsel in Distress
And when you tied her up
You tied yourself down
Revealing how you’d never be able to
reach your thin, spindly fingers
up to the jewels in that crown
which you so wanted to wear
to be her king.
But, we all change our minds some day
And as she coughs, she tries
to push out the virus
Those little dots of green
to match the lining of her little dress.
So she can feel space within her body
So she can feel something but your
Dirty Fingers- stuck up inside HER….
Crawling in and out
as they try to replace that Dummy
which she never had
and which she never needed
but which she now desires
Raising this blank canvas now to show
the picture, that he wants it to
But Daddy, you are no Rotcho
and neither am I your muse-
Turn to the bleach blonde straw
stack of hay instead
she’ll bend and do what you want her to.
Leave your Baby
to grow up
on her own.
And chuck those faulty training wheels
to the side
For your baby’s made up her mind.
A tragedy, in other words, of love
Two candle lit faces dance in the mesanscence of the café where
Children writhe in their seats; babies cry from their high chairs, man and wife, boy
and girl, boy and boy, hold hands across the wooden block upon which their elbows so rudely rest.
Smoke from the kiln in which crust and dust mingles into the room, burning to the brim of the invisible incense stick- its just their breath.
Savouring the sweet salty combination of their words- aromatic, acrobatic with his wit and with her judgement,
Lingering on their savoury thoughts.
A swift gesture of the hand as yellow speckled stars of parmesan
Decorate the delightful dish, made by gentle wrists as taste buds touch the terracotta plate. Her eyes envious forever of his eyes- opposite
so blue. so marinely exquisite. so true.
From that moment the incarnation was made complete,
as the hearts ribbons unravelled down towards the street. Waltzing cells searching for hotels, empty without the two, an appetite unsatisfied, oh to filled with you.
Grey sleeves, catch on tops
Strings unravelled, tied in a knot
Buttons opened, tight, now closed,
A secret entry, for only us two to know.
Pristine white, crumpled grey
Stained with fire- liquid, nay-
Tear drops of youth, quenches their thirst
Exciting passages, will always be her first.
There’s an ocean inside you,
and people are swimming in it.
Brushing their arms, stroking their legs
against your waters,
leaving their thoughts before they enter
the holy body.
And they cleanse their own
whilst in yours.
Daffodils rise and life begins anew,
Spring time, this time
Is full of sunshine rather than sorrow.
That will be left behind, to pick up again
Little girl wishes she was a cat.
Counting not sheep to fall asleep, but the amount of lives
It would take to forsake old mistakes.
And like a video game
Always have a fresh start.
See those Swans at the window?
They’re stuck in Ice cold waters,
Prickly feathers, frozen
But still gentle- My ‘Friend’.
As they tickle you in your sleep,
Floating into Blue.
Prey awaken as strong necks,
Cuddled each other to sleep.
One half for you, one half for me.
Nestling, lulling white hairs into that-
Goosebumps rippling in a circle,
Those Swans at the window
Their sailing around the world,
With one chipped wing
Each- a pair of eyes,
Shared between the two.
One half for me and one half for you.
Circling, circling with no
Guided by the smell, the hope
Swimming with no compass now,
When you want to hold
But only their shadows
Touch your finger tips.
When you want to scold
But only gentle words fall
Out of your lips.
Grab them softly
Hold them firmly
And never let them go.
Unless they wriggle out
Of your buttered fingers,
Leaving but a mere stain upon your,
On my mantle piece, lie
Candles which burn slowly
Flickering throughout the eve’
As the crescent moon hovers through the window,
Nearly crashing on my sill .
Head pokes out for a deep breath of air,
Sucking in a vortex of night time life.
Dizzying swirls which seems stiller than the day,
As circles and squares merge into the dark.
But, lets lick our fingers and sizzle out the flame,
Travel to the sun and stroke its raucous mane.
In an attempt to tame both ourselves and the Earth.
Blackened hands having been burnt to the crisp
As we look over the horizon now,
Only to tumble down into the abyss of light.