Sunday, 28 April 2013

"Shifting Moral of the Story"

Alas, the final post for this here poetry month. Not to worry, the poetry continues - as it rightly should. And, as it inevitably will.

Shifting Moral of the Story

So smitten was I with the way
You moved me,
In no time I let you in.
In no time I was driven
To satisfy as you desired
And, so soon I became mired
In the mix of love and hate
You were so deft to create.

People and things I loved
Grew distant
Which is to say, for me,
They became summarily
Insufficient, compared to you,
Your attention. Your love was new
But, in time, grew thin
Scarce affections without and within.

By the time I awoke
You had gone.
Deserted - cradling my new normal -
To face the shifting moral
Of the story. Which one?
They all end in the same song
I gave up everything to make you stay
But you left, anyway.


Thursday, 18 April 2013

"Like Dying"

Aaand the poetry continues... Here's another from the Lit Café last month.

Like Dying

Your words to me signalled an unbearable finality
I didn't want to hear them, but, I had to hear you out
I had to hear you say that this was, indeed, the end.
You did.  And, it was.

The end of us -
The end of us and we and our.
One call.  Five minutes.
Years of heartache.

I grieved my loss in silence
I petted my sorrow in my bosom of discontent
What little words I found within and without
I used to mop up tears of anguish.
And, when the words were full
I'd wring them out again.

Nobody tells you it's like dying.
I had heard you. Loud and clear.  I was there.
But I felt better, safer, in denial.
My anger seethed and I drowned it in drink,
And ink - never to you.
I tried bargaining - I called.  I wrote. You would have none.

How I got the courage to
Fulfill that pre-death obligation
Remains a mystery to me.
Fifty people at that party, and I'd never felt more alone.
On the way home - and at home - I cried. 
What did you do? And how?
Me? I'm still working on accepting that we've died.


Monday, 8 April 2013


It's poetry month. Yaaay! During this month I will happily share a poem on each blog day. These three are the ones I read at the Lit Cafe I attended last month. Today's poem:


Sometimes I sit and stare at nothing
And nothing stares back.
Nothing can help me with this hurt
I carry in my heart, my mind, my spirit.
Nothing says this is just a dream
A horrible dream that will soon end
Nothing stares back.

Nothing listens to the sound of my tears
Dripping on my pillow both morning and night
Making their way through the fibres
Until they can run no more
Trapped in an endless weave of
An unfamiliar maze.
Nothing knows how that feels.

You left me with nothing
I have the scent of the pillow next to mine
And nothing smells like it -
Your sweet body mixed with shampoo -
I can almost taste it
As I can almost taste your kiss.
And nothing tastes quite like it.