Between the lines and through the lens…
I have crossed oceans without feeling the weight washed beneath their waves… I have cut through clouds without knowing the worries they whisper to the stars… I have flown from darkening dreams towards tomorrow’s daylight and yet the light is already fading on front of me before my past has even slept before my […]
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I flew back to a day no longer this day, returning to the rubble I had run from to catch the last slab being laid upon my childhood buried under a concrete garden, not even a root to latch on to. I saw the permanence of the pavement pour over the past no longer possible […]
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It was summer stock and season of blondes; darker tones bleached to an inch of white, at first so fair and fragile, translucent tracks tethered to nothing more than temporary teases, interval acts pitching and playing and parting before the important performers took their permanent positions. I was high on a hiccup of happiness […]
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I steal scents from strangers, skins skirting a sense of someone else like flowers sent to the wrong address and thoughts lean towards intense, fragrances on the less familiar that feel more personal than these perfumed impostors pilfering my past, more a fancy to my form than a complete composition of theirs, I can […]
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New notes quivering on a quaver, new rhythms rattling through the repercussions of older rhymes; echoes of former crescendos that crashed too soon, convoluted cords that quickly constricted comprehension, reasons now realised to be unreasonable, yet old fears still trickle-down worn keys, no longer black and white, no longer wrong or right, (is there […]
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Day 25; National Poetry Writing Month #NaPoWriMo If I could reset the world I would start it with a kiss on a silent night In the corner of winter, summer has claimed the light, dark corners need our attention more than the sound of the sea and the smell of the sunscreen. If I could […]
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I’ve looked for you in corners of the past no longer concerned with connections to considerations I once cradled (we never cradled) but since carefully filed and folded (like pictures pressed into pages of albums never opened) into a folder of foolishness fantasised on foreign fields, though never fertile, though never suitable for the fondness […]
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