Chunks of Blue.

25% through vote count,

I’d checked out.

My hopes sunk,

My house full of chunks of cheese and bread and seas of Green and Red

and not a Blue in sight…

<<<<<<<<<<<<<<<<<<<<<<<<<<<<<<<<<<<<<<<<<<<<<<<<<Right?!

So then,

Why…?!

(Sigh)

I see a thumbnail of sun breaking through clouds in the sky.

Select a guided morning meditation for Peace,

Letting go

And Acceptance…

Except this feeling of unrest atop duvets upon fault lines

finds me scanning through frequencies of friends,

Searching for those responsible.

Feed me love.

Kakariki hearts,

Crimson lips,

(Stay Woke.)

Those who feel deflated,

Hold Hope.

Those chunks of cheese and bread,

although Blue,

Might learn to acquire some taste.

 

A short walk in the wind

She spoke in poetry

And the rhymes were in time with her thoughts,

But too fast for anyone else to keep up with.

She sought your glance

And hoped that your hands would need her hands to pass you something.

She follows the direction of love

And waits for you to read from the same map,

So you both land in the same place…

But,

She walks too fast for anyone else to keep up with.

She stops.

Waits.

Then sets off with you, making smaller paces,

so spaces closed in,

Became closer.

She craves your face

And wishes that your heart would need her heart too.

She stops and notices the rhythm in the wind

And waits for you to sweep her hair out of her eyes.

The walk.

A hole in the toe of my shoe shows a hole in the toe of my sock as I walk,

wondering how u do the voodoo that you do to me. 

And it’s not pricky like pins…

more like smudges of pleasant across sensitive areas. 

And they are good sensations. 

And that makes sense. 

A hole in the toe of my shoe that shows a hole in the toe of my sock would sometimes worry me….make me think that passersby assume I am not 

all together…

…that I’m lower level…

but it is only me staring down at my feet. 

My sneakers squeak as I ponder how you appear in portions in parts of me in pieces of my day.

And it’s not easy to write as I search for perfect word choices…

…but all my summarised scrawlings are smudged.

And that makes sense to me and that’s ok.

Pleasure me…asures

Sunshine upon shoelaces

Dipped chocolate biscuits into Elderflower tea

Big couches and lots of pillows

Two small cats.

Rhythm within earlobes

Dipped paintbrushes in a stained plastic cup

Long walks and plenty of trees

Three written words.

Rain overflowing guttering

Dipped feather quill into a digital ink pot 

Small gratitudes and

…a forthcoming love.

Quiet, relaxing nights

Dipped down underneath duvets

Wide eyes and everlasting energies

One happy poet.

For 1 – 2 Players.

Into the Friendzone we go.
My stupid, hopeful heart plays me again
And I let my mind run ahead too many spaces too fast,
too far…
And then,
…Ruin all things.

I know, I know,
Dramatic, it seems, yes;
But are we destined to forever wander…?
To continuously look?
To “hook” that apparently necessary & important
Other….
Half.

I guess the thought of loneliness,
Under duress makes waves of messiness
And foreshadows solitary still-standing.
Yes,
We all want to relate
to a lovesong.
We long,
For someone to hold,
To warm when cold,
To laugh and to grow old
Together…

But whether we find that match –
Nay –
When the pieces latch
Into a part of another persons puzzle,
Play…

For as long as the game goes,
And
Who knows…?
You might
just
win.

Jumping Fish, High Cotton

Trusses of woven brown, fall down her back
with beads attached,
to the sweat and anticipation. Palpitation of my heart thumps and beats hard into the mattress;
hoping she can’t feel it,
but kinda hoping she does.
Gloves off, move closer.
Nervous heat stings and clings to the non-sheet as feet touch feet and I feel her warm breath on my neck……
Hands beckon with soft skin;
Move within
And encircle my fingertips.
I notice her lips
And then look away –
The pull & the sway makes my eyes feel afraid –
And my heart begins to quicken.
Faster!
These thoughts speed through my being,
Overacting,
Enveloping mess of a mind;
Foreseeing
And creating scenarios,
predicting contradicting “let’s see where this goes” flows, flowing and already over-thinking…
Sinking slowly as I sidle beside her.
My assessment of this situation is
This feeling of…
Bliss.
The comfortable, oddly familiar,
Gives you dumb girl grin and ensures you have clean,
Good-looking,
Well-fitting
Underwear…
Space.
A place that feels so
Naturally,
Perfectly,
Pleasant.

Rousseau Me Up.

Strength and Fidelity

Wealth and Inequality

Our old souls sing.

We are all Optimists in a weak world.

Life left to the will of the Prince…?

I wince

at the rise of Aristocracy.

States of decay,

Your mind a mental Magistrate,

Are you wise enough to Govern your Psyche?

Our oppressions, our obsessions become submissively strong on the inside.

So, we hide.

Talents hidden,

Virtues ignored.

The Tyrants of disturbed thoughts go unpunished,

as we lie in a democracy of despotic dreams.

Oligarchy Oscillates like Opiates in an Open Opinion,

Sit on the floor….

Caress the privileged

Manipulate the poor.

Placate –

Annihilate the past acts from your self Sovereign.

The body may wish to hurt all, but cannot pick on a particular one.

Rousseau Me Up with stitches and seeds of silence…

as i take Aristotle’s quiet seat on the shore,

I deplore…

Man was born in chains,

Yet he can always be creatively free.

Thood

Body Languid

Music doesn’t appease her,

The actions are deceivers,

A lust advocate and believer,

Loves absence is a teaser…

Of what she wants,

Of what she needs,

Of what she craves,

And how she feeds.

Scenery doesn’t appeal to her,

The vistas become windowed words –

Like echoes,

Causing excavated re-verbs

Gone solo…

 Her four hollow empty chambers become

Liberated –

Exacerbated,

She feels septic pressure above her knee.

Aromatic skin invigorates her,

The feminine scent left upon caressed creased sheets will stir – 

These lovers curl like cats…

And…

…Purr…

Their fragrance clings,

She feels…things…

“Permeating.”

Touches her wrist,

Pulse palpitating,

Pores dehydrating,

She longs for flesh on flesh,

Sweat on sweat…

But leaves things as they were.

The flavours melt her incisors,

A tongue of temptation revives her,

The taste –

More sour than sweet;

It’s the sugar she craves,

What she wants,

What she sees…

Makes

sense

And is exactly all she needs.

Thood.

Is this it…?!

This can’t be all there is.

“You’re still so young!” they say…

Soon,

These clouds will shed the grey;

And tomorrow is another day,

Yay…

Hoo –

-Fucken-

…Ray…

Of sunshine magnifies these lines,

Trapped in the confines

of blood versus skin –

Life-shell harshly etched,

 Youthful exuberance within.

Each minute of each day i age;

Illiterate ink faded across the page,

Wondering if there really is a ‘next stage…’

This can’t be as good as it gets…

Enjoy it all now before nothing is left!

Write it down before the mind forgets,

Reminisce good times if memory abets.

Let’s…

See how long we can walk like this,

Lips reminded of a once loving kiss,

Kept hand-written cards from last Christmas…

This can’t be all there is…

Thood

Sun stroked strum

Remember when we used to play our guitars on the lawn in the afternoon…?

The sun upon your strum;

Picking melodies,

Plucked from the malady of love.

I was never really in key…

Is this string “E…”

Is that one “B”…?

But musically,

I improvised the tune…

So soon

Did our song die,

Strings break when wound too tight…

Our heat,

Was the beat of the night…

We chorused as one –

Les Paul meets Gibson;

Always a composed bridge in our fight.

Now our ballads play solo;

Different rhythms,

Altered tempo…

We fret,

Forget

To march to the beat of our own drum;

Your sun-stroked-strum…

Forever plays in my mind.

Thood.

Bodily Dysfunction

Sand trapped between lens and frame,

Scene polarized with pessimistic grit,

Watch out for the fan, it’s covered in shit,

She hides her face, changes her name.

Stone wedged between shoe and sock,

An arduous uphill tramp,

Look out for blisters on blisters, a limp and a cramp,

Once was a pebble, now is a rock.

Splinter stuck between skin and nail,

Embedded under polish chipped and cracked,

Beware removal, keep the thorn intact,

She picks at her skin so frail.

Sticks strewn between hair and hood,

Ringlets braided into a nest,

Take note – this swollen carcass needs rest,

She closes her eyes for good.

Just one flea

Flick a bug from my book,

One look

My way and I’m all yours.

Just one flea,

Bouncing around in your gravity,

You march with the masses –

I am free.

Just one flea,

Under the skin of your knee.

Imagine the sheen,

This scene,

Without gravity –

Without tragedy…

Just one flea,

Within a thin-skinned captivity.

A satisfying scratch;

Gratifyingly detached

From all irritation,

…A pleasing sensation…

Fingers become freedom fighters,

Night is…

Approaching

I itch,

Incessantly,

…Breathe…

Bed bugs offering no reprieve.

Brush me from your lines,

Your plasma,

Your pores…

On your sweat, I’ll dine,

on an entree of excema H’orderves…

Calamine lotion,

What a fucken notion!

Loose like a garage door with no latch,

Tempting like an itch you can’t scratch,

Under your nails lies my skin,

Inside my heart your venom felt within…

Just one flea,

I bounce high but cannot see

How you can exterminate me.

Thood

I sit alone now on driftwood.

Putting headphones on to escape reality,

Yet I’m sitting amidst one of the most beautiful scenes,

Propped up next to driftwood…

Looking out to sea.

My former lover not far from my mind,

Interrupting the poetry, the vista, the find.

I need to escape,

need to wee!!!!!

and unwind,

I need to recover and to myself, be kind.

Sits trying to light a smoke in the wind – alone.

Sand atop the can, listening to Nina Simone.

Feeling Good….but…

Feeling exposed.

Writers always make the loneliest notes.

I sit along the same stretch of sandy shore as she,

Look out at the same island,

and into the same breeze,

I look, just as she does, at the sea,

Wondering if she’s doing the same as me…

The distance between us now is wide,

The gaps and rivers swell up the tide,

I remember the times we walked here, barefoot,

side by side,

I sit alone now on driftwood,

as the waves say goodbye.

Thood

 

Author of her thoughts.

Legal jurisdiction interrupting non-fiction,

Old remembered tones from long ago

Fade in and out, more left than right though unstable headphones.

She walks, observing.

Swallowing salivation a constant irritation,

Unfinished poems and prose,

Her mind goes,

to believing she’s not so deserving.

Evaluate,

Do not retaliate,

And learn from each and every mistake…

Talks to herself,

Avoids the Top Shelf,

Good things should come from this energy conserving.

Thood

Thunderous Applause.

So thankful for the rain.

The repetition on the roof,

Distracting her mind with its wash away rhythm.

POUR DOWN!

Pelt and soak and drench,

Go wild…

So grateful for the warmth.

Sheets uncreased, blankets piled,

Enveloped in a casing of electronic heat,

Yet her heart remains bitterly mild.

WARM UP!

Sweat and snuggle and stretch,

Get sleep.

So appreciative of her life.

She can’t believe the storms she’s survived!

All is now calm,

Still,

And silent outside.

 

Thood

Shuffle, Next, Play.

The length of the field was the length of the song,

Headphones on,

She sang unabashedly along.

A ballad;

A reminder of a love now gone,

Tears under Ray Ban’s as the beat plays on.

Left ear – vocals,

Her thoughts chorus a lyrical rhapsody of heartbreak,

Right ear – Instrumentals,

Providing the soundtrack to the journey she must take.

 

Thood

From Queen to fitted single.

Her duvet cover keeps strangling her feet.
The top sheet,
Is nowhere to be seen.
Electric blanket set on three,
Torso squirming in the heat –
Sweat-stubbled legs trying to kick free!
Her former lover,
Missing…
From under the cover.
She stretches searching hands across a lost form,
Unable to find that familiar warm,
And tries to retrieve beautiful dreams.

Thood

Hey, Ma…?

Where is my mother hiding?

Where, oh where is her head residing?!

Is she shackled in chains?

Has her absence been explained…?

To anyone; or am I just being strange?

 

Why isn’t my mother replying?

Why, oh why is my contact denying!

Is she bleeding under the floor?

Has her truancy become ignored…?

By everyone, or am I just being paranoid?

 

When will my mother start confiding?

When, oh when will that time be deciding?

Is she alive, still loving life?

Or has she simply just

Gone into hiding?

 

Thood

 

Birdgirl

Perhaps I cannot see as you do,

Maybe I’m on fire and need to diffuse…?!

Ordinarily I’m ok with what I see as true,

Perhaps I’m on fire, ordinarily with you.

Tui’s talk in a tongue of their own

An understanding between friends of the feather.

A secret vow, a pledge under oath,

The migration begins before the shit weather.

She who has pinned her own wings

Will never learn to fly,

She is scared of life and its upsettings,

Therefore, refuses to look at the sky.

An Image of Her.

 

Love intangible

Dreams unimaginable

She’s like a grand building,

couture;

Demure,

Delicate and pure.

Trusses of marigold

Hang from her crown to her back,

Eyes like a mineral pond,

Begging me out of the black.

She was my love,

My life,

My warmth;

My lover,

My world.

 

Thood