Tuesday, 27 March 2012

woman in glass - reprise

She stands in the darkness, pretending not to see me. Always looking out of the corner of her eye. Always there, always mocking.

She raises a hand to her cheek, as I do, she speaks when I speak, but I can't hear her. Somedays I listen so hard, so hard, to the silence.

She must have a purpose, a reason for being there?! A reason to stand each day, in the darkness. Why does she mock me at my window? No life in her eyes, just staring, always staring, into mine.

I stand away from the window, but I feel her, the weight of her gaze. I know she wants me to look over, but I won't. I will not give in to her. Every day we play this game; I move around the house, she follows me, at each window. No useful occupation of her own. Her presence is eerie, always I know she is there. Why the fascination with me?! Why must she linger so?! I have nothing to give her, my world is empty.

I push my hair from my face, and risk a glance over, and there she is! Hand in her hair! Same style as mine, her eyes, cold, and dead; her face expressionless. Her eyes hold me, locked into her gaze; and suddenly its clear - I understand now the months of the chase were to get me here, to hold my attention, but for why? What use is this looking?!

I move towards the window, she moves toward me, and I cry out "Why?!? Why do you follow me, why do you want me here?! What have I but nothing?!", as usual, she doesn't answer. I'm met with the mocking of my questions; opening and closing her mouth as I speak, no response. Infuriating! Her face now filled with anger, I have upset her with my questions, like I should know! She raises a hand to the window and bangs the glass, desperation in her face, and I see! All this while it was her that was trapped, not her trapping me!! I raise my hand to bang, bang, bang at the glass with her, we need to break out, to set us free!

In a wild fury, I grab a wooden chopping board and start pounding at the window, pounding hard until I feel it crack - soon it splinters, and shatters; a million tiny sparkles. Glass and blood scatter across the floor, I collapse in a heap, breathing heavily, relieved that it is finally over. I look at my hands, my arms; cut to tatters and bleeding, bleeding a warm red river of relief.

I pick up a piece of the broken window, and see her, still staring back at me, full of sadness. I plunge her into my heart. Now it's over.

Monday, 26 March 2012

Friday, 23 March 2012

Tuesday, 20 March 2012


Shimmers to another plane
Ethereal beauty
Starlight and hope

Sunday, 18 March 2012

Sunday, 11 March 2012

alcoholic tears

How naturally the bottle fills my empty hand,

The amber liquid numbing the soul.

The passer-by sees no poetry within me,

Just the dirt on my face,

Streaked by alcoholic tears.

...Numbs and distorts, caresses and consoles.

this fragile, pretty thing

In your hand
You hold a tiny bird

Delicate wings
Tucked gently
Next to your thumb

Hands strong
And manly,
Yet gentle enough
To cradle
This fragile,
Pretty thing

Cradle her with love
And softness,
Protect her with
Your strength

Her eyes look at you

You saved her.

Thursday, 8 March 2012

no air

Plastic bag --
Held tightly --
Over my face--
-- No air --
Life fading --
Drifting away --

- -

- - !
- Play dead -
- -
--you walk Away!
- No looking back -

Thursday, 1 March 2012

leap day

... "you better not count to ten before you run boi!"

..."today's the day we can grabs us a man!"


Amelia Stagecoach Meadows,
Post apocalyptic Wild West:

"Leap year day?

That's the day when the law den't reach us. We have as long as the sun is high in the sky to catch em, by any means necessary; when we do, they cant say no. Once ever four years, the chaos comes, driven by carnal desire and a little bit of crazy; matches are ALL made this way.

Men cower, hidden out of sight. Streets are empty, aside from packs of women on the hunt. Shotguns in hand, eyes trained for movement at windows - the men will be found, some easier than others.

For some there is a want, a connection built up over the years that wants to go further; they make themselves easily found (only sweet Mary forbid the wrong woman does the finding!). For these, leap day is joyous, matches agreed, lust sated, futures planned out. Others aren't so lucky, remember, once found, they can't say no.

Women search, like wild coyotes; shotguns slung over the shoulder, calling to men folk with whistles and jeers. Years of desire, and yearning for younguns, has driven many half crazy. The men stay hidden. Some leave town the day before, try their lucks in the hills; but many tough it out, in the cellars, in the rafters, Old Bill one year even stopped in the water tank!- Skin pruned as a hundred year oldens after a life in the desert it was!

No man can stay bachelor forever. They nearly always get caught in the end, when their legs ain't as quicks as they use to be. Franklin managed it; to this day still no one knows where he does his hiding!

Me? I'm not ready for the hunt. I still got least another four good years of robbin in me, maybe even more than that! Maybe I'll end up like Franklin, a little lonely, sat on that old porch of mine, counting my spoils and watching the world turn."