My Poetry: Things Are Going Well

I

We threw splinters

Of ourselves at the rising sun.

Lost souls exploring the space

Between earth and eternity,

Then took what was left

Rebuilt ourselves anew

From the wreckage of a summer wasted,

Chained to a seaside town

Where ecstasy filled our weeks

With all the colours we possessed;

We inhaled the palette of that town

But we knew, we always knew

It was too small to hold our dreams.

So when the colour faded

From our cheeks, we

Picked poppies as a hobby

Like old people use walkers,

Drowning in isolated fun

Never saw the sun or moon

For the days never bloomed.

Rode the carousel

Listening to our bodies scream

Feeding habits in sneaky toilets;

Long nights kicking sweaty poisoned bullets

Into bare mattresses,

Just to get ill again.

Call. meet. nod. repeat.

Five years up in smoke,

Five years of nothing but

Turning tin foil sheets tar black

Girlfriends disappeared,

Relationships put on hold,

Wish I could have told them

I'd be back one day.

I was just sad, and scared of suicide

So become invisible instead.

But all they saw was a ghost

Squatting in my eyes,

As pale thin skin turned to plasticine

Like a wax work of someone

Nobody ever heard of.

II

Now, years later

I'm seeing friends

In the faces of strangers,

How I wish I'd known

The last time we said goodbye

There would no more hellos.

Emaciated corpses have grown fat

In semi-detached villages:

No more Hellos.

Some returned back to dust,

Freedom to fly without flesh prison:

No more Hellos.

Those of us who are left,

Watch our teeth grow longer each day

As we keep our beds clean

Dilute blood with new poisons

When mother nature knocks

Or rain clouds slip

Round the neck like a scarf,

Unable to warm hollow bones.

Sallow muscles plead

As I watch dirty faces

Nodding in doorways

Stop, roll two bag notes

Between fingers, then walk on.

I worked hard to runaway

From small town destiny.

Now things are going well.

My Poetry: The Fire By Which You Set Earth Alight

Her picture sits on the mantle-piece,

Next to a puddle of red wax.

The memory of its flame

Illuminates the shadows on my heart

When the empty bed

Leaves me unable to sleep,

As the nightingale rests

And the metallic moon hums.

I used to re-read our letters

By that candle’s light,

Every word an embrace,

But, long ago I stopped counting the days

Since that flame burnt out.

I remember Arles,

You telling me all about Van Gogh,

On the banks of the Rhone

Where you spilt red wine down my pants.

Where I snapped that picture

As we set fire to your fears,

While planning to conquer the world.

Your flame red hair growing back,

Your smile returning like a sunrise.

But that was then,

Before the fire by which you set earth alight was extinguished.