Small.
small (different to big.) (perhaps what I meant for big to be ) (a long time ago.)
An Amateur Forecast
A whirlwind disturbs its way along the coast, Consumes the sand of beaches and whips up the dust of festival grounds; No one notices. The sand is sharp stone and the dust rises in great smothering clouds It’s too much fun to be a problem
People continue their raves and sun napsTwo people hustle up the hillside to breathe, They watch the great billows of smog She jokes her lungs must be black with it Like a smoker of fifty years; Her coughs come up pure soot all week.
She can’t quite forget the blue staining on his hands though, Similar in evidence of wrongness
Something much worse willingly consumed, She doesn’t feel the same for weeks after it Fists clenching Like a habit she’d always had She knows it’s foreign though It feels manic.
She’d do it again even so, eagerlyThe high was immense The colours loud and the forest full of people on the same wave of electric navy Weaving between silver caravans with chalkboard interiors that shake of dancingBut perhaps that’s not a good thing
The whirlwind cares neither way Whipping up and up For a moment there in the haze of blue she thought it would consume her entirely But she just needed to breathe; Wash the grime and dust away with water
The whirlwind didn’t leave, It was just quieter for a moment.
It continues still along the coast Waves become choppier and batter the back float The ambulances here are loud. And angry
The whirlwind is subtle now There is no one else who can see it as it comes closer and closer Perhaps this is the eye.
Cold and full of shivers and sleeplessness And the familiar crutch of an old issue. Fading to fantasy.
She just hopes perhaps, that things will be the same after it has passed. If it passes. That the villages and homesteads still remain. That the anthills they expect are not beehives in disguise, or empty husks entirely
It would surprise even her in her dread. It would surprise those that do not see the storm even further
Even then, When all is revealed… will the air soften away? It ought to, by all accounts. But she is no meteorologist. So best to batten down the hatches. Expect the long haul.
Just keep swimming and dancing and laughing and living like someone who cannot see the wind.
Seconds bleed to minutes
Melt to hours
The clock on the wall stopped over a year ago; I’ve been too lazy to take it down and fix it, So now there is not even the ever present
Tik
Tik
Tik
To remind me of time passing,
My dry eyes crack and burn as another minute changes on the phone screen; I am holding my head under a much too cold tap
If only so the pain on my forehead reminds me I have to get up-
I shaved today
I was trying not to because don’t like how it feels like a requirement;
But I do like the feeling really
And when the mess is creeping slowly back to my room, Chaos surrounding the crowded desk, Even the small action feels like something;
I am getting changed again
Pulling the thick jumper over my head,
Applying different makeup every five minutes
If only to stare into the mirror and feel like it matters
Maybe I’m losing it
I think I met an angel last night
That was not exactly the point of the meditation
Just to ask for guidance this year
And yet
Running on three hours of sleep
And five mugs of too strong coffee
All I was given was the burning desire to release the image they gave me
Create this picture
That I myself can not get right
I was left shaking on the living room floor
Eyes beady;
It took too long to go to sleep that night
I cannot bring myself to work
The drone of the voice over the glitching computer call Is giving me a headache
So I’ll ignore it
And clench my jaw
And stare out at the unsatisfyingly small raindrops
And hope tomorrow is better
Artist
I am not an artist at least not in the way I wish I was I am nothing in comparison, your thoughts are poetry somehow; I can be flowery for England but I could never be as raw as real. I like the idea of bad art. But to make it myself would be failure, yet it is all I produce half-baked self obsession which is all I am really Vain and Proud and terrified because I can never really be good enough.
Darling?
buds of may are blooming more than ever, no plastic blossoms clipped in trees, some, are marred by the frosts, the sickly brown will crumple and wilt their petals, in time.
Yet they do not fall or waver; they are blooming still, for better or worse we will not let it go.
Clamped vinyl flowers would, perhaps, be beautiful
but they could never smell as sweet and, just maybe the buds will thaw, blooming a perfect ivory, unmarred.
Hearing the dawn chorus
In the mornings, When you’ve already rushed out To one commitment or another, I will make your bed, And leave you little notes, To show you how loved you are; That I love you so much sometimes I shed silent tears under the duvet, while you reach for water
I carry such overwhelming emotions; They are so heavy they cut into me, Like the cord handles Of a bag for life.
But, I am a quick study, I have taught myself how to speak In your language of love. I may not be fluent, But I am trying so hard, With unspoken rules from my silent teacher
I love you so painfully, I bend and rearrange and work to understand, And you too, make me feel loved. I am able to understand how you say it now Even though you can’t. Not really; Not in the way I need to hear it.
But I love you, So much. So I’ve learnt how to listen.
Sometimes I feel like I am always listening out. Incase I miss something
?
There is juice on the counter
Lingering
Sticky
You can’t be bothered to clean it
Having licked your lips and fingers
The sweet rind coming apart in your hands
At your whim
But the counter will dry
And stain
A rogue echo
Of what you’ve done.
not RSPCA approved
Twisting whorls of smoke choke out the amphibian that lurks in my throat, Its warts and webs burn by the spirals, The natural croak of the creature is silenced; It retreats further down my oesophagus, Away from the sting of such things, To the very back tunnels of its home, Where it shifts on its legs and puts a thick pressure on my neck.
It does not hide often; It doesn’t camouflage well in there and it is not used to the concept of staying put, It’s never had to before, It’s never feared the heat, Or felt the smog on its skin, silky and bumpy, Maybe it will evolve, We both know where it’s waiting anyway, It can’t hide forever, Even if your kisses fill my mouth with passion born ash, Maybe it’ll adjust to the warmth, Or perhaps we can air the room? Open the windows, And blow the smoke away
Innocent
I broke your most precious vase
After painstakingly mending all the cracks
Shattered it in fact
You will not ever mend it again you said
You won’t even try
I broke it so carefully
Hesitantly
Yet I could only crash it into the cobbles
It was cutting my hands
Our tears mixed as we observed the ceramic dust on the floor
I could not tell you why I had done it
In the quiet hours of the night
I think of the patterns of the cracks
And though my hands have scabbed over
And not even scarred
I am so very sorry
Asking ought not be so hard
The painting is perfect in almost every way, Drafted and crafted to mimic the majesty Of an artist’s careful hand. It is beautiful and sought after; Novel. But it lacks that life, That spark, Of buried emotion, So prevalent in its source material, Uncopied in the final, Why?
Does it not deserve that feeling? The code that cold and desolate? Can it not find in all its files and properties, The space to care?
Beach ridden
“I’m getting out of the water for a little while.”
“Just feeling paddling rather than diving.”
“I’m starting to prune.”
As if it is casual
A decision taken on a whim
Laissez-faire
And not because I can feel the edge of the reef, My toes are dangling now just off the end, At the part where the temperature changes
The first sign of the drop off
Into the deep.
I like to think I am a confident swimmer…
Perhaps that is why it scares me
Like a lifeguard
I know everything that can go wrong and I have watched it happen before I feel the rip clawing at my legs
So I am going ashore
Everyone is still swimming
But I cannot do this anymore
Not right now
I’m getting too comfortable floating.
