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The whistle of the wind
And the fate twisted and twined
Under the dark filled with gems
We made love and made other condemns

Mumbling crickets sang their song
And the croaking frogs composed their poem
The endless sky; glimmering yet bright
With you here feelings were delight

The moment and time stood still
And the world was ours to give
Soft tongue and eyes filled with jewel
Is not...

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Room in dark paint with crumbling walls and hollowed holes
Stares back with its glimmering lights from outside
With the lowered ceilings and sound of bellows
A place fit for safe and a place relied

Crusted floor due to dirt, mud, tears, and blood
Rocking floor and the swaying curtains fuels cry of ballad
Burst of sounds made a powerful gust that shattered glass
A sound that makes its poin...

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Reminisced the golden beams of Sol that reflects to your iris
An episode of time that we wandered aimless
Cuddles like a meerkat, we were one like a chorus
Envisages our future and stamped our initials on the tree of eucalyptus

The windy day and the descending star in stretch
We danced with the field of wild flowers and we kissed in french
The caw of the birds as our audience
to our story...

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Us driving in the unending road
Bouquet of puff hanging in my lips
With you here time slowly flowed,
for, I glanced over to see your mischievous glimpse

A day I deliberately squandered
To keep seeing your glimpse among the waning crescent we pondered
Gust flows your curls and pollinates its scents
Drunkenly devoted without a drink ferments

Lost in time, lost in asphalt
With only stars...

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Dancing in the background of lilac petal
Sapphires surrounds and shined with a vendetta
Gasping the puff of space dust
Walking in thin air, together with the seeping blood lust

Near, yet too far
Celestial bodies barreling towards with no fuss
Words spoken in the pages of grimoire
Unfurled by the curious gust

Synchronized by the effects of cosmic dust
The choreographed pirouette of the...

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Strumming the strings of fate
Moving in maelstrom against the natural order of destiny
As the strings lengthen, I’m in stalemate
To counter, to flow, or to simply be

I stand in the space of the night
Looking up, stars staring back
Looking back, decisions stand for condign smite
Still seeking for the perfect tune by a mere playwright

Choices have been chosen, Decisions have been decided
...

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with the last lines borrowed from Kaveh Akbar

------

Tension begins here:

My bleed/my break

the line one curves over slopes

the crevice cascading two-pulicitous over an edge

the stream of over-consciousness squelched in bliss

Return with me now, 

wind humming honey

a touch filled with ache

when silence lingers in our throats 

You sit with me now

distance a year ...

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"i know how to walk from here to there" 

okay, i muse back, 

"so walk through fires with me, walk through" 

i cant. i never have been able to. 

the places that i walk from are the mouths of cavernous houses. 

and from them ive only just realised i can leave.

"i will give you wings and a heart and a lust for the finer things"

good, i need an incentive.

"but you must act upon...

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sitting on a train with my head bowed in a quiet mourning for the couple sitting two seats in front.

or really for me.

i mourn for me, me and my love and its cramps.

im in love, im in love and once more im in love. 

not with anyone but with everyone, or anyone who'd see it through.

then each time i remember that the only thing i want to be is noticed,

someone can notice that, eve...

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if you show yourself to me 

i will disappear under the vastness of linen filled lines.

i will run through clouded streets until my legs give way. 

if you loan yourself to me 

the farthest hills out yonder 

arent far enough for me. 

the distance to be put 'tween us 

by me, 

must be longer than the wizened vines that grow from your mothers childhood home. 

must be wider th...

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i miss the child i was at 17. 

i miss 17, i miss missing, i miss loving nothing. 

i miss wanting to feel and not being old enough to get it yet.

i miss thinking i was emotionally literate. 

im 19. 

nineteen. 

i am still a baby, a kid, a viriginal chalice not yet ready to be drunk from.

there is no slow down, you crazy child when it comes to me. 

my onlookers wince as i choo...

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am i hungry or has the pit returned.

that stupid fucking pit.

its an eternal loop, circling in and out of itself.

floating dead centre in my gut.

particles of another girl explode and expand out of it, 

overcome by this strange girl from the strange world.

i weep on my mothers lap, 

i retch over porcelin, patterned.

seeing my sister for the first time in weeks, 

she glow...

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youre a good little girl,

he types.

youre submissive arent you, 

he moans, over text.

he expects a beguiled, 

blushing emoji in response.

what he gets is three dots and an empty silence so loud he remembers what he is.

a greasy teen (21 years of age).

a lusty manchild looking for another child. 

he tells me im a cute and submissive girl, 

with luscious milk bags. 

...

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curled on a velvet chair

in a darkening room

is a monstorous teen. 

outside the blackening,

is a fading pink sky.

the clouds within whisper to shepards, 

"Delighted I Hope"

and on the highest grassy hills,

the shepards face eternity.

 

 

 

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my soft soles patter over the cold slates that make up the maze of halls im scurrying through.

i am on an adventure, a treacherous journey,

to retrieve a single key for a locked door ive been trying to batter down my entire life.

there are others, winding their ways through the spiralling turrets.

sometimes we even fall in unison, 

our shoes hitting the same beats, on the same beate...

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With wedding season truly upon us the search is on for new wedding entertainment ideas.

One of the recent discoveries was this idea to invite guests to record their thoughts through poetry..enjoy

Whose wedding dress is that? I think I know.
Its owner is quite happy though.
Full of joy like a vivid rainbow,
I watch her laugh. I cry hello.

She gives her wedding dress a shake,
And laughs...

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gracefully i perch on the edge of the bus seat, 

so as to convey my feminine, my eyelashes. 

each time the doors open my posture rushes to fix itself, 

my fringe blown out by my hands running through it. 

when i'm most worn out, 

on the days when the world is dragging its feet,

when my joints tingle with pins and needles. 

to look pretty on the edge of a bus seat is a fufillin...

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My brain is leaking out my nose.

leaving an imprint on the soles of my shoes as I walk on,
it splatters, 
squelching, 
as the birds pitter, patter on,
a minuscule impact behind the larger one.
the sky tilts with me,
f-lling
fall-n
fa-l (how do you spell -alling? i thnik.  ha;ve I ‘forgtten’ HO?W t0 write to )

Click
                      Click
                                     ...

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Smooth with the blemishes of upside down soccer nets, the permeating stench of feet hollering surround the sand of a beach ball court. The sight of opposite conversations inject the ear with distinct memory ; a 'wake me up before you go go' over "my god i cant fucking stand this school." Small in a way thats new, movements fade as legs pull forward, with fingers spending time typing t...

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floating in that acrid pool of nothingness, 

a feather kissed the tip of my nose and whispered softly over my face.

in that moment, decided. 

i watch the village of women who surround me each day, 

awash with a soft awe at their mossy eyes and woolen hands. 

i link arms with the girl i love most on a late night walk, 

running from the boy who asked me to give apart of myself.

...

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BEFORE THE DAY BREAKS

All and most all ways    there is a kind of a sort of a motion

When I look at you and I do
Taste the silk and silver on you to find
One of you in hiding from one of me to be
A posture keen to be akin to you and me

The air in slow vibration    lingers

In the wake of your sigh soaring in kind
Of what says ever who tells never so ready
For caressing waves of f...

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after For M by Mikko Harvey

 

I didn't expect you to leave

red paint on my heart. 

Have you ever spoken

without the timbre of your gaze

turning words into molasses?

Well, if not, I think you should try. 

Follow my lead:

Emotion tied to twisted words and Pokemon is an odd combination.

I hope you know the melody of my laughter will be found in those words.

Sometimes,...

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after Ode to my Envy by Chen Chen

 

I'm distracted by those around, meshing their hands with the keys I can't bear to touch.

I'm distracted by the words which won't come to me but scream that poetry is everlasting.

i'm distracted by the fugue state

 

my eyes have decided to be buried in & remain seated for the show.

I'm distracted by the way I refuse to be elastic, forever hav...

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i've seen the smallest, tall creatures be eaten alive from the inside.

a quick glance to the left and under the bed will tell you all you need to know. 

the festering, rotten bed frame.

assembled by the very thing that chained me onto it for years.

but when i finally broke my own chords, vocal and the ones restraining,

another creature crawled from under the bed and took my place. 

...

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she died on the bathroom floor you know. 

a cut on her ribs. 

the rib borne from man, 

killed the girl on the bathroom floor. 

no one had kindness. no one had words of condolences. 

only four pictures and a note, 

only they proved someones love for her. 

the things that made her beautiful, 

an innocence lost, 

a bleach blonde tangle, 

and a vicious lover from a doomed...

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on the day i decorated one side of my wall, 

there was a statue that fell with a crash, 

and cratered the ground. 

a statue whos golden plaque was read aloud to me as a child. 

and on the day i decorated one side of my wall, 

with the movie quotes, 

and the pretty people, 

on that day my eyes bruised themselves silly. 

my pockets full of hours, and grief. 

non violent pu...

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ive been invited to a party this saturday. 

i think i will go, 

i think i will get as drunk as i can. 

to feel the painful crushing weight of the sunday hangover. 

im going to act as if i am in a french film. 

i will tell each person a different lie, 

tell them something i've made up about myself. 

these people dont know me. 

dont know me at all. 

 

but whats more lik...

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i'm choosing to forget the stick and poke image, 

of myself in my head. 

my likeness is one i want to be liked. 

the stick and poke is immature and elementary. 

think your high school aquaintance,

who always wanted a tattoo. 

but 15 was still too young. 

so they mutilated the innocent skin of their thighs. 

the mutliated image of my body, my face, my ugly wretched soul

b...

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when i see the girls who match my soft body,

when i see them wear the skirts, the tshirts, you know the ones.

well when i see them, i feel as though i must reach through to the other side

of the screen that seperates and give them a star shaped sticker. 

the stickers that, while they got their flowers, we coveted on our walls. 

it's awkwardly awkward trying to explain this to anothe...

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to feel as if one has emerged from a cloud of dust each time they wake, has to mean a great deal. 

it's what's on your mind, as you duet with the girl on the other side of your headphones. 

it must feel like the brightening of the day, the singing of the earliest bird, the sweat after the fight.

at least this is what you think to yourself. 

for you it means to be able to run two steps ...

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who wants the teenage girl
sitting on her rustled bedsheets. 
stained tshirt, stained tear tracks. 
smiling, cooing and ooing at the people on the tv. 
blushing when he kisses the girl she wants to be. 
or when she sits alone in the cinema, grinning. 
toothy smiles, outrageous laughs
too loud even for the rest. 
seeing the best film in the world. 
then another best film in the world. 
co...

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charcoal toothpaste. 
teeth whitening strips. 
water on a bathroom floor muddied with muttered songs. 
cans of who and why on a windowsill. 
forehead sweat. made to stick fringes.
quick to anger. founded in a parent not so unlike. 
jerking awake. jolting asleep. comfort nul. 
calm mornings when the sun alarms. 
evil feelings when green and yellow lie dormant. 
stuttered uttered eye contac...

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its hard to measure a single beating heart 
to measure its clawing judgement. 
to measure the mothers beating blood while she’s
wrenching, retching and writhing. 
its hard to measure disgust, 
difficult to seethe while corps-less hearts beat inside you. 
its easy to declare a hidden hate, 
easy to let it wage a war on a world you don’t understand. 
its hard to watch, fallen sisters. 
its ...

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more wistful now than poignant
while whistling with the wind
dancing dapples of recollection and forgetfulness
serve only to stir whirling notions
blowing willowy wisps of patinaed pirouettes
intertwining and reverberating shimmer 
that no regret has any hope of obligating

- - -
N. B. here are two versions, the first and the redacted immediately following. Which do you like better? 
Ple...

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It might the flying Dutchman be 
Or the fame of those fishermen three 
How it, planks of our own fashioning, walk we!

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shadowy sheets cover, 

dark, shining lips purse;

pointy ears prick skyward

as corn stalks pondered

chanting scarecrows curse

in a sea of dreams left over

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Red train rested at Rotterdam station
Over the border to meet a friend
Trains all over Europe pass here
Today is a bright and sunny day
Every person glows in its brightness
Realising not a former disaster, that
During the 40's destruction erupted
Along these very streets, evacuated
Murderous bombs wreaking havoc

 

 

'

 N.B. It was 14th of May, 1940 when the Luftwaffe decimated ...

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With disdain they looked upon one Billy McGee
a boy that promised never to be;
a rep that’s scarred and scratched,
for sure his name’s mismatched
as darker skin ya’ever did see
on blackish hair with reddish flecks of Billy McGee.

A red haired aboriginal boy
matches were only a toy
and he was caught red handed
and always branded
the troublesome fire starter.
Poor boy had no farda
he w...

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numbers do not the soul touch
or rouse from depths of reverie
whose shallow sepulchral beauty
surface deep revelations aplenty
plead with matrimonial vows, thus
parchment scribbles & ceremonies
do not a marriage make and
neither will ice cream make us
any colder after calories kick in
poetry's soul may ride its form
but transcends its empirical parts
its triumph for all to behold:
at l...

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Belatedly, towing a rust-worn Saab, where
many dreams and adventures are wrenched
from a youngster's brooding petulance ...

Gravel crunches under a pair of balding tires
guttural screaming to a downbeat of debt
spewing silently from a tattered billfold.

What a present: timely to an empty fridge,
in the hallway, a growing pile of washing
impatiently reeking of malodorous intent.

 

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wrote a poem in my head, last night

too lazy to get up and write it out

wasn't bothered to bring a pen

or a device to my bedside;

this morning was a beast

wringing my memory

for what had gone

all those words

now vanished

last night

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Keep the tips of my fingers callused,
The rings to my eye sockets,
Deep and purple.
I do not have the luxury of being lightning in a bottle,
I must make my presence known through substance,
Filling the sea of aspirations with my own,
Intoxicating and plentiful,
The key to any readers hearts,
My own suffering.
I will expose myself bare,
Devour my offering so that I may find release.
Unde...

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Picking up the internal slack 
and bring about an inward tension 
that emboldens for one to face the day 
and the prospects of oncoming ones. 
Where wet cheeks, are visible cues 
of flipping calendars, leaf upon leaf: 
existing surrenders 
and like a sparkled after-rain, 
brings a moist crystality
that fills in the cracks 
and mends the broken places.

 

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in its purest form
the simplest of 
possible affirmations
is to be loved in return

in similar manner
the most complex of
probable affirmations
is reciprocating like affection

in conclusion, then, 
it seems most apparent
to appreciate with reckless
abandon the air we breathe

for we build tomorrows 
on these simplest, most 
basic of molecules, our
humble bricks of being

whose...

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With every year's end - the advent marks the start of a new day,
as human kind we’re always growing wiser, furthermore, fully face to face with the task of taking baby steps toward a straight forward path —
It’s time to take a stand…
(With that being said: we really need to enjoy such a joyous occasion)
In an effort to boost morale; International Women’s Day should pronounce a two part holiday...

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With one small hand wrapped round my thumb

You gave me a vision of what was to come.

 

A memory I will hold forever

The smallest grip, but I will remember.

 

I'd stare at you all day long

In my eyes you could do no wrong.

 

You would sleep and wriggle on my chest

Out of everything I could do, this was the best.

 

In no time at all you'd stolen our hearts

And ...

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