Saturday, October 28, 2017

This Angel on my Shoulder


He sits in silent contemplation
Monochrome white
His stillness unperturbed
By the serrated energy
Of my life

Wing covered eyes
He waits in silent grief
When tears creep
Through the hooded lids
Of my eyes

He sits in
Homochromatic
Weightlessness
In colours
Before him
I cannot hide

The pounding
And the heart beat
Of men I have held
Leave him
Unperturbed.

He knows
My deepest longing
To find
Not love, but
The difficult simplicity
Of myself

This angel
On my shoulder
Sits and contemplates
And waits, till
I chose not to hide

And sometimes,
Just sometimes
Through these
Hooded tears of mine
He reaches out
To touch me

To tell me
In the whispering
Silence
It is enough
To be myself
Surrounded by
The wings
Of an angel
On my shoulder

____________________________________________
My thanks to Neil from Hoodedwept whose passion and love for his creative clothing providing the inspiration for this poem.  Thank you


Wednesday, October 25, 2017

A Mothers Love


She expelled me
With great relief
On lookers say
With pride and joy
That says more
Of them
Than her

Her joy
Was my expulsion
Her pride
She had them fooled
But I swam in
Her Artic waters
I knew her rage

I kept my balls
Locked from her
Castrating gaze
Our love was best
At a distance
Silence, our language
Of choice

The years ground
Ground us down
The perfume
Of her depression
Clung to my being
And long before
Her leaving

I left for my
Survival.  Our parasitic
Relationship severed
I was the son
She did not want
She the mother

I did not need

The Insomniac


The dark grips
And prizes open
Flickering eyelids
To stare
Into
Silence

Dreams recede
Slowly, the
Aftertaste of
Memory, though
Uncertain and unsure
Realities hallucination

Silence shattered
The monotonous
Hooting of a
Random owl
Like the whining
Of a Grindr hook up

They say to
Count breaths
Monotony to
Dull the mind
To slip, once more
To sleep

It never works
I need the scent
Of the memory
Of your body,
Your breath
Your lips

Your…….

Saturday, October 14, 2017

I suppose


Long of limb
He straddled me
I suppose we could
Have talked
But words by then
Were redundant.
Texted agreements
Bent by desire
Reflected intention
But not reality
For ecstasy
Entered, transforms
The certainty of meanings
Until we returned
To the shore
Of our beings
Spent, satiated
And our selves
Separated once more
Reclothed, re-entered
Our different
Realities


Sunday, October 8, 2017

Words


Words, slice
With the
Quiet incisiveness
Of paper cuts.
Knifing the
Scabby crusts of
Of recollections

Scarified memories
Murmur in
Mutiny at the
Sound. While
Slumbering skeletons
Shake, disturbed by
The tone,

Of fretful anxiety
And reasons hastily
Vomited into
Interpersonal space
Drawing breath
Masquerading for
Listening.

While the
Mask of niceness
Leeches rage
That God should
Maintain silence
Subjecting her, to
The indignity of uncertainty

And my
Slumbering skeletons
Memories of
Maternal Medusa
Sigh and subside
While alcohol

Swabs the cuts

Tuesday, October 3, 2017

The Theatre


They played
Their parts
These parts of me
Parts of me
That were not me
Yet, perhaps
They were.
These shadows
Shades of memory
Congealed with
Fear and repetition
Skeletons of shame
Solidified, strutted
Across the stage
Of me

But I
Have grown tired
Of theatrics
And of tricks
Of parts and pieces
Sewn and stitched
With threads of guilt
The quilt of the parts
Doesn’t warm
The heart

So, forgive me
If I do not applause
And yet,
Yet, the parts
They played
Their part
They kept me
In the play
Till life
Could take

The part