Smiling, helping everyone
Sulking, no homework done
Always cheerful, and seen hanging out
Insecure and really lonely at heart
Laughing and joking along
Crying when she’s home alone
Being there for people
when they’re feeling down
Screaming into the void
when she really needs someone.
. . .
“Do you need someone to talk to?”
“Please save me, I feel hopeless.”
“Don’t worry, it’ll get better!”
“Why am I so useless?”
“I hate myself...”
“I’ll be here for you”
“Don’t I need someone too?”
. . .
one contrasting the other.
While inside, she suffers.
Regretting the past,
She puts up walls.
Dwelling on mistakes, but alas,
When will she move on?
You can lead the horse to water - you can even shove its nose in the water - but sometimes, the horse just drowns.
Just Movin’ On
You cocky man
strutting your wares
you think I’ll endure
You arrogant man
I’m sick and tired
of all your cheating
don’t want your lies
so close your mouth
You swaggering man
I want you to know
I tell no tales
I do not care
you’re no longer there
You vain man
I’ve made up my mind
– it took a while
so now I smile
just movin' on
not coming back
You egotistic man
I roar like a train
going down the track
to new adventures
and new guys.
You pompous man
The future beckons
your memory fades
and is erased
just movin' on.
On Flying The Nest.
‘Why him? Why did you have to pick him?’
My Dad seethed silently,
As though there was a man in existence
Who could ever be good enough
For his little girl.
I was sitting between them;
Love-of-my-life in the passenger seat.
Both men looked straight ahead,
Trying to appear respectable.
They hated each other;
The vehemence palpable.
I held my love’s hand
But leaned on Dad’s shoulder.
‘Why him? Why aren’t you leaning on me?’
My love seethed silently,
As I snored on the comforting brown leather of Dad’s jacket,
And dreamt of being a child again.
Of art and wild adventures.
My Dad swelled with pride at my choice of pillow.
Maybe for the last time...
I woke up knowing
They both wanted me to choose.
Like asking for a baby’s first steps
To be towards one or the other.
There is no try.
If someone tells you that they will try
what they are actually saying
they will never
If you are trying
you'll be stuck forever
and you know it.
Working on it
has the same meaning.
Moving on happens
you stop talking
and just take action.
ghost on sand
final fantasy for
a vacuum packed chap
doing sand circles on the map
thought I saw
in sepia tone
my own movie
face placed against your window
could see us bounce like electrons off protons
could see us grow
but it was just a mirage
and the land worm pirouettes
waiting for another false step
this desert heckles my heart
nothing but memories to survive on
the heat wobbles like b movie barracudas
or those blow up wavey arm things
on the forecourt of a cheap car showroom
i think it’s been a few days
dried out like tropical mix
had a snapshot vision of a place where my hands once touched your face
but then my crumbling eyelids opened to
the light smacks my face
and highlights all my past mistakes
it’s so hot
think i’ll unzip this skin
set it down
see if it gets sucked in
i’m so tired
let’s call it a night
maybe see you on the other side?
Can’t Move On
Want to forget about you
Throw you into my past
But you keep coming back
Keep intruding into my thoughts
Want to delete everything about you
Forget I ever met you
Forget we ever talked, but no
Fool that I am
Want to move on
Live my life, laugh out loud
Dance with joy at being free
Yet, I keep going back to you
Want to get over you
But I can’t move on
Because I keep on remembering
Everything that I love about you
On good days, I move two steps forward
On bad, ten backward;
No matter how hard I try
Moving on has always been mind fighting heart.
In Your Corner
pick the pieces up and drop a few along the way
feel the bruises blossom as you keep on moving on
try to find the spark between the flint and the stone
hold on to your anchor as life just bobs and sways
throw your heart into it - you just might fight another day
That of an ESN
Black lips sipped on plastic straws
From cream skimmed figures crated, awaiting an hour
Figures of dire fates in a freudian fantasy presume an alluring eye that might hear a Siren and see sirens flashing a future of assumption concluded in a dreams mistake.
Black lips drip white with activated intolerances and lactates
shameful little monkey mans fear of swine and mothers milk.
Refrigerated in corners and capped in silver, red and gold
They gave us free milk at school and it made us sick.
Haunting our ambitions to be on the gravy dripping trip
whitening a way to heaven as blue eyes peer down
upon our inner loathings as we peel the
sweated sheets of white fears off our conscious thoughts.
We roll on beds of agitation and stomachs churn with bile
We are caught between day dreams and grandurs behond the pale.
Across tracks made for iron or chains to pull carriage
shunted life along lines of state roll on rails of ghetto spied fate
Machines can opportunities too menial and tinned for the ignorant of plight.
Beginnings in prisons of want and aspiration skew worths contorting right.
I see me looking back at questions I am not standing in or over.
Seeing that path ahead curves off around a bending nowhere.
Cascading dreams flitter off without focus on directions.
Into traps smeared and sprung cages hold progresses motion captive.
Pressurising pains of failed rewards for tolerance endured
like carbons contained to inevitabilities of crystallised resplendence.
Refracted pain screams unheard entombed in glass for value graded purity
of colour as skin peels within veins like worming shafts.
Casts, cast no differences against backdrops of gloom.
Camouflage conceals a home for shades below where shaded graves protect from suns that rise upon no hope to thrive and flourish.
Savannahs stand abandoned where beasts not hunted graze
as black eyes stalk a coin and swallow meals of white disdain
Rented appendages sap strength and till rewardless lands
As they drag behind us leaving scars and dusty tracks
Gray slaves shuffle after trains long missed to destinations
where energy seeps out of weeping wounds of puss and sin
Understanding sighs a note, the cadence lulls and soothes
that sense which breaks a revolution long before its vision comes.
Meanwhile, in pities pit, those above the them beneath,
perfume onerous stenches as they go about their days smelling not their blames. They see not beneath the soles red painted vanity.
Trending paths lined with good intentions directed on a waypost
where eternally nowhere is the terminus in sight
And where knowing no longer need take purchase.
I remember mucus covered lips of bovine cream
blackness longing not to swallow not to take the whiteness
not to drown in whitened rivers or fall from buttered mounds and mountains that the grateful would show awe for should they know.
I will remember to remind myself of what not to remember.