2/30 INTO THE FIRE

Here be number 2 my lovelies :)


INTO THE FIRE

You keep the kind of secrets
that only ex's can possess
that sets friendships apart
and with no line ever set to cross
that distance is fine with all involved
but sometimes, just sometimes
a coldness drifts through the distance
like a cool winter breeze
through bare, lonesome trees
surrounded in groups
but standing alone
the way wood is raised
from the cradle of the ground to do
knowing that to be part
of one as a whole
is the full stop of a fire in heat
labelled the end
in the embers and ash
no one looks through
for any remaining sign of life
cause when the wood is cut
and roots severed
no worthwhile life will ever roam
through layers of crisp, wooden skin
hard and tight,
tired and worn,
weathered by more than just winter storms
the axe plays white knight to
or more accurately
through the flickering fizz of flames
you whail
frying pan (, oh frying pan you bastard you into the fire I go from you.)

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Happy Belated 1/30- THE DISTANCE BETWEEN

Better late than never so they say :)
So fashionably late to the party here I come people :)
30/30, it is ooooon! :)

THE DISTANCE BETWEEN

My soles are as pitch black as the rocks you hide under
since every step I took was after you,
spur of the moment,
called to action
no time to think or wait,
or for proper, appropriate footwear.
No, only time to tentatively, hurriedly
follow at a distance
behind the unknowing
in search of truth
you felt the need to change
with distance
moving hearts away from home.
You got your reasons I'm as sure as night follows day
but I can't understand them,
don't know their form or shape,
nor sound
cause you won't speak them to me.
A mothers bond and will and way
that's all I have to go on
and she can travel the distance
when a space needs to be made
and boundaries placed and kept
between the hand that feeds
and the heart that beats.

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...And so it begins...
Stay tuned, more tomorrow.... :) x

6/ 30 Memory and Sight

Today's poem in the 30/30 task
Born from the sight out a young girl with a home made kite I saw on my driving lesson today :) and fear not she still lives :)

6/ 30

MEMORY AND SIGHT

You remind me of a little kite
I once saw.
Home made
with simple care
and much love.
A plastic bag,
some sellotape
and string
turned into a joyus token of youth
that will never diminish
or destroy,
for hundreds of years,
past the life expectancy
of anyone roaming your world now.

Every time I face you
I become that little girl
I saw
and you become a kite of humble origin.

I hold the string tight
to keep a connection
as strong as bone
but without the fit of a noose,
or the constriction of a ball and chain
to keep you cemented to the earth
or weigh you down
with regret or experiences
and the consequences they give birth to
like women on fertility treatments
that become mothers of quadruplets.

I just watch you soar
above me
and come to familiarise the crick in my neck
with fondness
like a favourite word
or the scent of aloe vera

and you know I'm there,
even without sight
as cloudes fill your ambitious view
you feel me gently holding your little toe,
wrapping it around my hard working as emigrants fingers
offering all the support I can
without trying to set your course.

The wind can take you
where it wants you
and I will follow after,
in word or footstep.

So good luck,
I wish you well dear friend
in everything

and if you flew away upon the wind today
I'd be thankful always
for the youth you returned to me
like a damaged or faulty good
still perfectly usable

and you will always smell like plastic
not a manly musk
in memories to me
and I will think of you
when I buy weekly the things that replenish me.

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5/ 30 Re-edit In Rose

I wrote this yesterday after I got home after the excellent
'Writing on The Wall' exhibition launch I was a part of.
( http://www.hulltruck.co.uk/the-venue/exhibition-space )
Somewhat influenced a little, well the first and second to last line anyway from chattiing to Mister Mike Rouse- Deane I think since his book is called 'Last' about a man alone. :)
Here it is enjoy...hopefully :)

5/30

RE-EDIT IN ROSE

You are the last man standing
in a room of crowded foes,
all fallen by the wayside,
sliced by the bitter blow
of a perfectly timed comeback
and harsh remark
no amount of confidence
and self love can come back from.

While you reign supreme
throughout all the days
passing by
like faces on missed trains
you will never see
but can only imagine
with imagery to rival Picasso or Monet

cause what you invisage unfolding
is different entirely
cause you're laid by the wayside
like all the other fallen.
There was no escape for anyone.
You suffered the bitterest of blows,
just like they all did
that you re-edit in rose to suit your desires

to be the last man standing,
not just one more lost soul.
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4/30 Night Falls and Then...

4/30

NIGHT FALLS AND THEN...

Night falls
and then day rises again.
This goes on for months
while you know the sound of my name
and practise your pronunciation
every chance you get.

The mundane mixes with the magical,
for a time
and it sounds just like the twinkling of a glockenspiel
as our worlds set on fire
and bury the past in ash
no amount of urn's can hold.

Winter turns to spring,
summer to autumn.
Nothing changes what has to be
but your voice fell away with the wind
like a leaf leaving my tree.
I had no way to make you stay
cause I kind of wished you away
with each passing day and gentle breeze.

Time is meant to pass
and things can only exist for a time
so everythings destined to end,
eventually.
Do not lose heart in that.
Forever is unlikely
but the best experiences don't have to be,
including you and me,
so night falls
and day follows on

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3/ 30 Between Mouthfulls

3/30

BETWEEN MOUTHFULLS

The labels on alcohol bottles become gnashing jaws
of what the neighbours would say
as you wade through the darkness of a solitary night
like a stranger on foreign soil,
cause you're not use to independence.
Not one for your own company
so you try to make a crowd of bottles
at your Tom Cruiseless bar.
No showmanship.
No extravagance.
No hippy, hippy shake,
just the intimacey of the honesty
of a self poured shot of 4.
Playing truth or dare
with yourself
when the bottle falls and spins,
a drunken ballarina
pirouetting without balance.
As definate as glass
you profess your deepest secret to the air
your teeth never knew of your confessional tongue.
It always sounds different out loud.
Less scary but stronger
and definate as hell,
like a death sentenced switch flipped between mouthfulls of gin
you'll gladly forever plead guilty to.

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1/ 30 Delicates

30/30 is a poetry challenge to write and post a poem a day for the whole of April with no editing in honour of it being National Poetry Month in America.
I have been posting them in the note section on my fan page on Facebook but have decided to post them on here too so I shall be posting the 1st 5 one after another now but do not fret I haven't just written them all today, honest :)

Enjoy :)

1/30

DELICATES

You set yourself the challenge of being the perfect little housewife
and your heart gets lost in there somewhere
within months,
like that missing sock
that never lives to see the light of day again
after the close of the door
and the gathering of water
to clean the dirt away
in the privacy of a normal, any other day
too soiled to make it back from.
The sock will not re-enter your world,
your room.
Will not touch your skin again.
It suffers the consequences he will never face
as you delicately hand wash;
like the label to your heart reads
but you don't follow;
the dirt of his sins away
with the sweat and salt of your own efforts