Showing posts with label ageing. Show all posts
Inscription
Tuesday, December 23, 2008
Inscription
she took her time over every letter.
Often quoting someone else's words.
"Close your eyes and think of me
and soon I will be there..."
Summer '94
Where are they now?
It's always interesting wondering at the story behind an inscription in a book. Who wrote it to whom? And do they still see one another...
Half Sonnet: Hands
Sunday, December 21, 2008
Many hands make light work
your hands can't work anymore.
Every day I see mine change;
toughened, calloused, cracked with age.
And every day I see yours again;
living on through mine.
Don't let their hands hurt you child.
Persimmons
Sunday, November 30, 2008
Persimmons - Sonnet-4
folds over my face
in summer time.
Sticky
ledges of sand under
the trees.
Autumn turns them
brown and over ripe
but deeply rich;
they attract flies.
Prose sonnet
Sunday, November 23, 2008
Prose Sonnet: Vices?
walking the cobblestones of my favourite streets I am marred by the ghosts of my former selves the eight year old draws herself inward shuddering hiding her shy face as she searches for her lost light somewhere in the shade confused and frightened she would love to love if she knew she'd be loved and the fourteen year old self pulls deeply on the perpetrator of her asthma glancing to her scuffed shoes and everywhere anywhere but in my gaze she breathes pain and snorts lines of unanswered questions for breakfast there she is again at twenty-one and she has felt the rupture of the unbreakable bond known loss so scarring she will never see the same at twenty-five she is somehow surer talks of peyote dreams and distant seas trinkets sparkling in her matted dreadlocks I see her eyes reflect in mine stoop down to pick up the lantern and pass it over with sparks of promise in my glance willing her to carry on all I wanted was a word and I got alphabet soup at twenty-eight the end seems closer she knows now life and fragility are intertwined and the promise of tomorrow soon becomes yesterday I blow the smoke from the corner of my mouth and it stretches and curls its way around causing circles eddies in the listless smoldering orange glow of peace
I decided to keep all punctation out of this piece to increase the fluidity of meaning and the ambiguity. It is a highly personal piece, which I often avoid, but I have often thought about the idea of my younger selves meeting my older selves on the street.