Double empathy

April 18, 2015 at 6:44 pm (Stories) (, , )

I glance, and how to be a man with powerful thighs,
attired in far too tight a neutral suit?
‘to be unsure of why he feels so sick
and all he wants to eat? An aging tin of fruit.

Attired in far too tight a neutral suit
I glance and stride aside of some small woman
who wheels a squeaking trolley near my feet
maneuvering our empathetic plan.

I glance and stride aside of some small woman
and guess she hurries home to aging cat.
Is she as sick as I, and why today?
And serve herself tinned fruit? I feel she might.

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For the Love of Jack

March 24, 2015 at 12:32 am (Poems) (, , , , , )

Remember our Jack, who picked up his beans
and walked away from those who sought
to exploit his fear and vulnerability?

Remember how he walked away
from agencies who smelt
an egg of gold?

Our Jack didn’t give a bean
for banks who showed no interest
for as long as he had –
Jack squat.

No, our Jack put his beans
in a medium sized hole
he dug with his own hands
in a good old river bank,
and his care for those beans
never altered.

Even when they laughed at him
and took his shoes
and told him he was trespassing
upon their mean old patch of land
his love light never faltered.

So our Jack sat down on his jacksy,
and watched his beanstalk fare,
and now our Jack’s beans are plenty
for all kind folk to share.

But for the love of Jack we’re hungry,
and the giants have their way,
But for the love of Jack we’re broken,
Take your beans and walk away.

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March 20, 2015 at 10:09 am (Poems) (, , , )

our rhythms interrupted:
awed melancholy.

Carp Diem

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March 18, 2015 at 8:38 pm (Poems) (, )

Cutting through bluster
with blades of utility:
poetic motion.

from a prompt at Carpe Diem Haiku Kai

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March 16, 2015 at 10:07 pm (Poems) (, , )

We are the lost girls,
the stars of tomorrow
in curlers, pyjamas,
with beans in our heads.

Up in the night time,
we laugh at reflections
and fight with green jelly,
abandoning beds.

We are obnoxious
and anxious and beautiful,
Gazelle like, Giselle like,
a glorious mess.

We head rebellion
to form a close union,
our souls crying out
to be tickled to death.

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March 12, 2015 at 6:59 pm (Poems) (, )

We race down river,
past crisp white tennis players:
two gloriously best friends,
eating oranges quartered
with a dangerous knife,
the juice squeezed
directly into our mouths.

Someone bakes potatoes
wrapped in tin foil
on a smoky open fire,
and we smell of charcoal,
fresh air and old perfume,
and wear broken dress jewellery
borrowed from our mothers.

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March 9, 2015 at 6:23 pm (Poems) (, , )

I search inside and find your ruddy face
fast ease away but feel you rise and stare
Reflections in the window take your place.

Now news is made of creased and ruined flesh
despoiling freedom, innocence consumed
I search inside and find your ruddy face.

In retro dreams you touch youth through a lens
and I oblige, a child plucked out of time
Reflections in the window take your place.

Those ten familiar fingers preen and groom
and worth is stitched up in a spangled dress
I search inside and find your ruddy face.

Now meet a woman stronger than your guile
so tiptoe not, but should she drop her guard
Reflections in the window take your place.

It’s something in the coat or of the eyes
Not you, but of an age – and one more time
I search inside and find your ruddy face
Reflections in the window take your place.

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Complaint Upcycling Facility

March 4, 2015 at 8:14 pm (Poems)

Municipal dump
for those pent up frustrations:
place your baggage here.

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February 28, 2015 at 5:51 pm (Poems) (, , , , , )

There is no gap between the dark and light
No break of day, no falling of the night
Our hearts may ache but fingers still entwine
Your share of misplaced blame lies next to mine
There is no way to say a last goodbye
Though worlds apart, I feel it when you cry
Should mindless spin rotate the human race
Away from common problems we all face
We’ll split the cost no matter where we stand
Our imprint is co-authored on this land
Remember how I whisper in your ear
That love will always hold the hand of fear.

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February 17, 2015 at 3:04 pm (Stories) (, , )

She did the splits and it was so amazing
how far apart her feet were from each other
we stood out on the tarmac simply gazing
as those elastic legs bounced even further.

Our teachers sought to grant us inspiration
they said we all should work hard and would see
that everyone upon investigation
has something each is destined to achieve.

So Amanda still sits bouncing in that playground
whilst drinking in the wonder of the day
when all the class discovered she was gifted
in a most unusual quite peculiar way.

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