Tag Archives: poem

caves

the water washes over me
the wave cleanses me
i was a shipwreck
but there is no
longer any driftwood
splitting from my keel
the currents are warm
rough
calm
exciting
new
old
all at once

i looked out onto
that bay and its
frostwhite-tipped waves
for so many
years, never really
knowing it at all
instead I preferred to stare
at the grotted river bank in
the next town
heaving corpses from
the mud with my bare
hands and bones
trying desperately to
bring them to life
what a thing
to see such an ocean from
my own window
to pass it no thought
other than a drink at
a beach cafe table
now and then in summer

what a thing that
something so known
could be so new
could be such an adventure
could be so full of
fear and magic

i praise mother earth
my own bay
may not be in any
tourist guides or
hiking holiday books,
but it is here
at my window
and it is mine
to explore,
from the lapping shallows
that kiss my feet and ankles
to the deep and dark
storm-waves that crash
between my breasts
to the doors and caves in dripping rocks
full of natural treasures
that I can discover

all of it
has been here
all along
and what a joy of luck
that only now
have I begun to see it

within

I am of him,
that’s for sure
this stubbornness
so ingrained, it must be
woven into my genes
somewhere near the ones
that gave me
eyes the size of saucers.
as I become who
I always needed to be,
I let him drift out
to the ocean to rest,
finally releasing the corpse
I’ve been carrying
on my back for so long –
I find a new set of
superpowers in my heart.
it beats like his now
and always should have,
really.
I was not to know,
but now I do.
and his spirit weighs nothing
no more than a breath

I let it burst

from within,

to taste freedom for

the first time in

twenty two years.

amber

she won’t tell me her name
her eyes roll from
side to side when I ask
so I ask her what
names she likes
and she says amber
so amber is her name now.
she likes brooke too, with an e
or saffron because
she loves ab fab, though
it’s been a good fucking while
since she’s watched the telly.
she left home at thirteen or
fourteen, for a bloke
she doesn’t tell me much about
him, but she says she
thought they would marry
for a little while
then she got hard on the e’s
and lost
where she was for a little while
she asks me for a cigarette and
a cold drink
I sit with her by the bars for hours
she keeps her nails clean
but her hair is thin and
she has no back teeth
amber, you are
so intelligent, I tell her
and she laughs and
then adrian passes by
with half a spliff and she
tells him to share
she’s not interested in
him though, only in me
she makes me feel
like I am the centre of
the universe
she could be so angry
but she isn’t
she wanted to be an air
hostess when she was young
(I wonder, how young
because although she is
grey from the london air,
her soul doesn’t seem old)
she likes her doctor
he used to give her the valium
before she messed up
the script
and he tells her not to
sleep by the tube vents
because she’s giving herself
carbon monoxide poisoning
but she’s cold
and there are blokes everywhere else
she doesn’t sleep anyway
not for long
amber, I say
you are so full of
stories and imagination
she’s never been in trouble,
bar once
when she stole from a shop to
get arrested so she could
get a probation officer to help her
with getting a giro
they didn’t help her
but she got free coffee and a bed in the station
I have to go at 2am
but she won’t let me
leave without giving me
tobacco wrapped in a
receipt
I go to my bed and bemoan
that I’ve been too lazy to
buy fruit
and she sleeps by the vent
breathing in poison
amber,
life is so fucking unfair
I am sorry you have to be cold
I am sorry that dirty man stole your new jacket
and made it stink
when can I see you again, amber?
I promise I’ll buy you
another jacket

 

jetty

he grips my arm around the wrist
heavy-knuckled fingers all adorned
with my favourite jewellery,
digging into my sweet skin and
child-like bone.
“oh,
what a pretty ring!”
I exclaim,
although he cannot hear me
because I am underwater,
and my mouth is so full and
wet, that no sounds can escape.
he grips stagnantly,
with no intention of letting go
and I suppose that I feel safe
even as I feel cold salt water
filling both of my lungs and
the sting of blood where the
silver scrapes and bruises me.
“I’m drowning,
so let me
go!”
he doesn’t hear.
I attempt to protest
and scratch away at him with my
free arm, like a crazed
rat in a trap.
he doesn’t let go.
the water is distorting my vision
but I can see his eyes
(which are still
full of hurt,
by the way)
staring down at me through
the slop and crash of waves.
he must be cold
or getting tired, at the
very least.
my legs are thrashing now,
and I know I want to sink
and see the sea-bed.
“let
go!”
he seems confused.
does he?
I can’t see.
my wrist doesn’t hurt and
he seems confused.
I breathe a great load of water
it’s all white
is he there?
I can’t see him
no
there’s no noise
my bracelet
it’s stuck to the jetty
I can’t get it off
where did
he go
I can’t
get it off
he’s gone

torches

yes, she brings me flowers
wrapped tight in a tesco bag
more than one smile
dances on her face, and
so I look and learn there
in that great establishment of education

she never grieves
she lives
she puts pain in the
wicker basket on her bicycle
and cycles into the sun
no matter how heavy it may be

she is a stream, river
and a fountain waterfall all
together at once, not
without mud or silt but
flowing, flowing, flowing always
washing us clean of
our sins and sorrows

with this power of water
she could erode us
but she chooses to make us float
she could drown us
but she chooses to cleanse us
she could guide us foolish sailors to our deaths
but she chooses to hold great torches up as guides

thank god,
thank god for her
I think as milk comes out of my nose
while I snort and shriek with laughter

threads

there is a
wall there now
I can’t see it with
my eyes but
I can feel it with
every jangled nerve

your elbow
permeates brick
and cement
to rest on mine
it is rude
and tenacious

you don’t
look at me
the way you
used to
so I wonder if
you felt it too

surely you did
I was picking
shards of cement
out of my hair
for days
on end

the hair on
my skinny forearm
stands up
to attention
soldierly
full of electricity

I look and
the golden threads
on yours
are laying flat
with no
visible disturbance

so I suppose
I won’t spend
any more time
wondering what
you dream of
when you’re alone

permission

for a long time I
chose to be
your victim
all torn up with
sorrow and disgust
making you all evil
all wrong
and myself
so weak
it was so much easier
to absolve myself of
thorny responsibility
this way

now
that victimhood belongs
to you
not me
not anymore
I survived your
long con
and your violence
and I will
not allow your
actions to scar me
any more
because you
are lower than shit
not evil
no, because that
would relinquish you
from the permanence of
who you are
in your humanity
and
the choices you made
in your selfishness

the reasons why I
allowed you to
exist within me
mean nothing at all
not now
not anymore
my pain
does not matter
not anymore
because I
have given it
permission to leave
forever

strawberries

you are part of me, yes
but you seem so
far away and surreal
not quite a fairytale
not quite a fantasy character
from my little picturebook,
but you have lived only
in photographs for so long
that the thought of you
somehow existing in my reality
is almost laughable

you could almost have been
my imaginary friend
or a once-loved doll
from the toybox,
lost to the years and
faded now in adulthood
with nobody really
too sure on the
specifics of your life’s breath

I remember the sting
of dettol on my grazed toes
that I got dancing
through steps and wild
strawberries,
the first week we moved
the scars are long gone now,
but I bristle in joy
each time I see a strawberry
growing on the side of the road.

I remember my baby heart
turning into stone
when you sucked in your
last laboured breath
tucked into clean white sheets
your bones are long buried now,
yet your soul’s suffering
is still taking up
too much space in my mind bank

should I surround myself
with strawberries and slippers
brown LP sleeves and men who
grumble and laugh like you
used to do, before
you were dying?
will these things
ease my inheritance of your pain?

only that I had
been just a little
bit older
perhaps you’d be
an anchor instead of
the salt sea breeze