Poetry – Page 2 – Rant and Roll

Just me, lost in thought

I feel like it has been raining for years.

And I will wake up tomorrow, webbed and gilled, a green-skinned lily-pad.

My eyes slick sliver, like salmon skin.

I sit here, watching the skies melt, with a kitten wrapped around herself. She is unaware of this other wet world; this place without food, without fires; warm beds, and sleepy heads.

Myself, well, I am drawn to the grey.

The strange semi-stillness of a night drawing near.

Mischief realized.

Heartbreak thwarted.

Coming home with a grocery bag filled with potential.

Potential?

Or adventure?

Mugs of piping chai, thick woolen blankets, and the tap, tapping of a lost-lover’s knock on my window panes.

The SOS of ten thousand teardrops.

And I see the lights across the river, blinking.

Like an old man, lost in thought.

On a Wednesday morning

I wake up to his hand on the small of my back.

Like a paperweight, holding me in place.

I shiver, and

He wraps himself around me.

Warm arms, and

cold knees.

My parted lips, and

His chest.

Enmeshed.

I can feel his breath.

Warm and thick

In the crook of my neck.

His beard.

Soft bristles

That tickle.

And our fingers,

leave gooseflesh,

Not prints.

Outside,

Dawn stretches.

Slowly, lifting the dark shroud of night.

Like a magician.

Ta-da!

And I want to lie here,

Forever.

Until the sun supernovas

The stars fade away.

…

Bits and bites

Beginning.

This is a very true story about a magic worm. His name was Wimmiin.

One day he fell into a toilet and drowned. Being magic, he thought he would be able to swim, unlike most worms.

He was wrong.

He just drowned.

Middle.

I slept in my bed last night.

It was good.

After my conversation with you I went for a long jog along the track. Then I came home and went to my haircut and colour. My hair is now very black.

This could be good or black.

I will wear my hair to the airport when I come to meet you.

What colors of paint did you choose? And did the blueberries go down well with the water, on the sand? I find nothing tastes as good as oranges at half time, so I do not fully appreciate your blueberries. I probably missed the first five minutes of our conversation this morning as my mind was not yet awake, but oh it is so nice to start the day off by having a nice chat with you.

I have also started a story for you:

Once upon a time, a gargoyle found himself made flesh and pale in the rocky world. I will finish it for you when we go away; when we lie in that warm place.

I’ll whisper in the shell of your ear the sussurus of a life – like a river bed, like a whirlwind.

End.

Semi-reclined, this skin sobbing salt water
Arid air agitated and abrasive against
that tallowy tan

Thirsty

For fabulous dusk’s cool silence and,
Her thirty billion twinkling eyes

In a dream you waited to drink.
In that heat you shuddered
(alone and uncovered)
In my dream you rose up, and met me
Waiting, and impatient, at Gobi

…

I don’t mean to repeat myself

I feel as though

I am viewing the world

through a poor staid crystal

which at the moment

blocks out every frequency I can utter.

A block in my mind,

and I feel like you may feel

like I’m being corny

if I tell you I miss you again,

but I cannot think of any way to say it differently.

What is your favorite kind of flower.

I will draw you a picture of it with my kindergarden skills,

and fold it flat as a frog flattened lily.

So stray not from the heights,

for I will enfold you with the stars.

…

That you have but slumbered here (while these visions did appear)

Close your eyes.

I dreamt I met a boy
with deep set eyes
and sand scrubbed skin,
sitting in the grass
that tickled my knees –
while he played hide and seek
with the fishes.

I blinked when he kissed

the pink skin (on my shin)

smooth like a skipped stone.

Looking to the sky,
drinking still-sweet raindrops
whispering and
waking

memories
of windswept walks
and Easter egg Sundays.

Clicking our heels

on the cobblestone streets,
we saw sunshine
stretch its strong arms

across a lake of lace.

And our hearts raced
when we remembered the sensation
we had tore from our
fingertips
and drank from our
lungs.

And when I woke,
I cried
for the boy, with a heart

warmed by the heat of one thousand
dragon sighs
who traced my shadow
with his powdered chalk
from when he was but six
and pebble sandwiches
were all the rage.