Tuesday, September 26, 2017

maybe ...





maybe ...
maybe
it was the way you splashed words
on the canvas of my thoughts
colours smashing and crashing into
one another until
the whole developed like
a polaroid photograph
the kind you hide from your mother
somewhere under your socks or underwear
or ...

maybe
it was how you blew kisses
across the miles
like puffs of dandelions
drifting off into the clouds
that i somehow caught
with the fingertips
of poetry
or ...

maybe
it was the summer of
camomile teas at your kitchen table
where you sat across from
my broken spirit
and told me
not to take things too seriously
or ...

maybe
it was every hello
you sent me
just so i knew
you were there
just in case
i needed to know
just in case
i needed a reminder
just in case
or ...

maybe
it was the warmth of your heart
finding its way into my heart
and filling the emptiness there
with sensible sound
with a symphony of emotions
that woke me
from the sleep of waiting
for the endless tomorrows
of meaningless
maybes



 







 

Monday, September 18, 2017

hey ...



hey ...
hey ...
sorry
i wasn't listening
and i guess
i missed
the verdict
that the jury of
those twelve people
inside your head
brought in
just before the stroke
of midnight
actually i was busy
in the kitchen
making coffee
and figuring out
the physics of
a perfect brew
even if the cup i had to use
was clearly someone else's
someone who apparently
went by the name
"Joe"

hey ...
sorry
i wasn't listening
when you rushed into the room
and in a gathered fury
flung the last of
my poems
out the second storey window
and to be honest
i was busy wondering
if metaphors made a sound
when they floated
into oblivion
floated through the summer air
like kites without tails
some drifting into rainy pools
where i guess inky promises bled
across the paper
into dark blurry doodles
while others caught the barbed branches
of trees to blow like
flags of defeat
streamers of surrender
in the land you
once referred to as
"Evermore"

hey ...
sorry
i wasn't listening
when you slammed the door
so hard
the bougainvillea
crashed down
from that perfect arch
i built
just for you
but after all is said
and done
i suppose
you probably said
something pretty wonderful
something i could hold on to
something i would always remember
as a token of a love shared
yes
probably something more
and more and more perfect
but all i heard
all i really caught hold of
was a simple pulse
in the steamy cicada air
that sounded a lot like
"Goodbye"



 







 








 
 


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