Wednesday 19 December 2012

Mandarin Orange


Squeeze the bright plump
mandarin orange between your palms.
The sour syrup drips from its skin
down the back of your tan hands,
leaving you sun soaked and sticky.
Suck the nectar between your lips.
The refreshing inhalation of sweet citrus
collapses your senses into paralysis.
The greens, yellows and reds
of the round, fresh unchosen fruits send envious stares
from their basket sitting position.
The basket balancing upon your arm swings
too and fro as the pitter-patter pace of feet swiffen their steps.
Skip, skip, skip over branches, rock and brick,
in search of shade to shadow the blinding gaze
of summer solstice heat. 

Tuesday 18 December 2012

Independence


Are you looking for a helping hand
to lift you and help you stand?
A grownup needing a leaning post,
someone to steer when rough seas approach,
but I’m not a giver of sympathy.
We’ve all faced life’s negativities
and the tougher we fight, the stronger we grow.
No lesson is learned if you call your hero.
So dust off your shoulders and rise to your feet,
shout back at this world that you won’t take defeat.

Monday 22 October 2012

It's Called a Conversation


Shut up, please.  You know not who I am,
acquaintance at most so don’t call me a friend.
You speak what you say and I hear what you want,
but one-sided speech isn’t conversational thought.
If I interrupt kindly, a bruiting displeasure,
a negative smirk or walk off at your leisure.
For listening isn’t a sport you know of,
not a ball or a bat, just a mind not to judge.
So hear me this once and please listen clearly,
to stand by my side you must interchange evenly.

Tuesday 9 October 2012

Six.

Six, my lucky number
Six pillows on our bed
Six kisses say goodbye
Six years since we had met

Six hours ‘til I see you
Six pencils on my desk
Six, the clock placed a hand
Six buttons on my dress

Sixty miles an hour
Six o’clock reservation
Six bullets in his gun
Six-second hesitation

Six peoples piercing screams
Six steps forward he takes
Six quick rounds he fires
Six feet you fall and break

Six-mile ambulance trip
Six nurses wait bedside
Six words to you I whisper
Six breaths before you die

Six men carry your casket
Six rows of black dressed grieving
Six verses I can’t utter
Six sobs of disbelieving

Six lilacs on your grave
Six-dollar cab ride home
Six windows full of moonlight
Sixth floor and all alone

Six pillows on our bed
Six hours sleepless slumber
Six kisses wishing to take
Six, my unlucky number


Monday 24 September 2012

The Sound of Memory


I pick up my phone and press talk,
an all too familiar action.
My voice is pleasant to receive a friend
from the other line, but it’s you.
“Hi,” you reply.
That voice, I’ve heard it before.
I’ve heard it soothe, swoon and boom.
Unfamiliarity in its recent age
tells from a difference in its tone,
but I can still draw each expression line
as I hear you form the words with your lips.
Countries that separate matter not,
as the distance in my memory brings you closer,
pulling your face to the foreground of my mind—
a happy one if I can find it.
The years that brought us here
have led me to erase every inch of our timeline
calling them “the lost years”.
Choosing not to speak of them,
as if the record books of my mind ripped each page
from their leather bindings and burned them all to ash.
Each last one, lost in the fire.

I find one.  It’s short and quick,
a complete contradiction of our love story’s demise.
It was an afternoon drive, with our destination being unnecessary.
An absence of aggression in your steering
led you to slow at a yellow light.  You turned to me,
as I sat cross-legged in your passenger seat
swallowing air through the open window.
Your blue eyes pierced the thin exterior of my polished shell.
You knew me all too well.  Happiness flushed over your face
and you gave a half smile; like a deep breath
slowing letting out a sigh from one corner of your lips.
I didn’t have to feel your hand to know it had clasped mine.
Finger locked together like the gaze between our eyes.
We held a serene silence for just a moment
before the harassing horns of eager cars awoke us and it was over.
The steering wheel stole back your hands and the road had your eyes.