And Now

after all the madness

of the night

of red blood

seeping down the sky

down my walls

I sit here blank

and unhappy

my heart is a

ship on fire

sinking

and the roaring waves

of my days

engulf me

like demons

Dominic

Dominic

they call out

and I know

I tell them

I know the gardens

I know the dew on the grass

how it feels

I know I tell them

the kiss of the moon

on my eyes

Dominic Dominic

they call out

as the water

darkens my hours

I know I tell them

the warm morning sun

on my skin

I know the air

I tell them

I am a white butterfly

how wonderful it is to fly

but

Dominic Dominic

they call

as the roaring now

threatens to drown everything

around

I know the ant’s journey

I tell them

I know how they live

I was their friend once

how sweet they are

how much of the world

is theirs

how good a family

they are

I say I know

their lives

take it easy

I say

yet Dominic Dominic

they call out

my name.

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The Evening’s

come to rest

in this room

my glass in its

pool of water

under dim red light

has golden whisky

silent like the walls

the pictures come alive

the side-table

and the speakers

high in the corners

cough through static

some dead singer will croon

of love

of loss

and then the bar will bristle

the conversations start to flow

forks and spoons

clatter on plates

when a glass would

fall to the floor

from someone’s hand

who couldn’t hold it anymore

and soon we’ll find the swimming ceiling

the spinning sky of misery chasing happiness

past the pale white moon

and the stone cold stars

that will finally claim us all.

 

The above poem is from my first book Reeling (2012).

Cloud And Sky

and below that blue

and then the pale yellow sunlight

then red like fire

like a furnace

and finally the world

this is my morning

how the day is so silent

like someone sleeping

and I look and wait

for it to wake

some giant creature

of air

is it desire

that burns and cools

is it all in my mind

I wonder

and then

I think of death

closest of companions

and then the world slowly wakes

the windows open

and I smile.

Meeting

Calling them strange occurrences

would be wrong, yet they seem like that.

As though there was a world

beyond the question-mark

you had to slip into and like.

Here, there is a cauldron of constant

possibilities and impossibilities.

Here, the game plays out,

which will outplay you.

Let us just be grateful that

you and I have met this evening.

In this rain, in this wild horn

of traffic, we stand under

our umbrellas. Let us be grateful

that we have met.

 

The above poem first appeared in Nthposition, and is part of my first book Reeling (2012).