I don’t know

Here I am again
standing

next to these porcelain roses
frozen

wondering a colourful what-if
in this black and white world

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‘1 euro very cheap!’
the dreadlocked male
in the

knocked down stall
points
at a bundle of

old letters
‘you collect stamps?’
a blind date

question-
I hate those
No

they’re for my mother
I picked two
DDR era letters

they were written
by the same person
looks like a girl’s

writing light
green on the paper its
edges

exhausted brown
from its fight
with reality

luckily
I don’t speak
German so it could be

anything–
a love letter
that outlasted love

ich liebe dich
(in faded pink)
sounds familiar

maybe it was
the last one
maybe somewhere

was it’s not
you it’s me
maybe I’m just

reading myself
into it maybe
they were just friends

maybe one was
a spy
which would be ironic

either way
they’d never had known
that their story

would be sold to
an idiot
for a euro

sketch II

 

Tiredness is when
finally your schedule
is empty all you

can do is sit
and stare at the
invisible tick tock

of the clock echoing
in the space of your
solitude and your

heartbeat (out of
sync with the world)
is not concerned

 

Day 15 of National Poetry Month’s a poem a day challenge. Please follow, share and like to support. 

i made a wish

I made a wish:
sat in the field
for the first light

and sealed it in
cupped hands; then
went to collect first

drops of morning dew
added whispered words
and mixed it with

light kisses; then puff,
let go, and see everything
be, as they should be

Day 13 of National Poetry Month’s a poem a day challenge. Please follow, like and share to support.

ritual III

 

I stand on this pier
watching in fear the distant green light
blinking, an infant peering
for the first time into this world
the thrill matched only by first love’s
whirling waves impossible to grasp
I try but first only comes once
and the tears- sunken pearls-
fall into the sea that stays
utterly, pathetically the same

 

Day 12 of National Poetry Month’s a poem a day challenge. enjoy, follow and share to support. 

rose ritual II

 

took surgical tongs
to a dried
rose aged dull 

 

purple heavy in
swan song lullaby
petal by petal

ice-frost fragile
tender yes no
yes no yes

no

‘can’t you tell
you can’t kill
what’s already dead’

Day 5 of National Poetry Month’s April Challenge. A poem a day is actually getting quite hard! Hope you’re enjoying it.

daddy’s coat

daddys coat used
to be a
treasure trove

of secrets
that he’d show
me bit by

bit the sweet
shoved in
the top pocket

the Gameboy
to make me
shut up

daddy was never
one for
affection

hugs were a
foreign notion
his coat flung

onto my bed
as he yelled and
mommy screamed

I’d hang it
so they
had somewhere

to sit after
their stupid
loud bouts

my father’s coat
grew bigger
as his shoulders

slacked and him
older when I
left we didn’t

hug my father
is not one
for affection

always stoic talking
about serious ‘Futures’
but last winter

when he was
coming back
from work

he dropped a
pot plant
as he was

crossing the road
from my window
I saw

my father stoop
and scoop the
little plant up

into his coat
pocket amidst the
honking and come

back to our flat
‘help me out’
he said

we re-pot the
plant and he
flung his

oversized coat
onto my bed
as I hung it up

I could have
sworn
it was warm

The Blobbing Fish.