At The Round Table:

She’s not sure she thinks of herself as attractive anymore:

The daily battles had whittled her down so that there was nothing left,

Just a soul-less sack of saggy flesh and brittle bones that would make good compost,

Besides, the only thing she knew for sure about love was that it was transient,

And yet in the five years since she had vowed to never get close to another man,

She’d had three wonderful relationships – each one better than the last,

And leading her closer to the holy grail (but delusions are tricky things),

God give her strength!

girl alone

 

 

 

She Sleeps With The Light On…

. . . Just in case,

The night is still,

There’s not a sound,

Except the rumbling of a distant truck,

Which propels her into a memory;

It was of the time when she had her babies,

A marriage bed full of passion, youth & hope,

It was a time long before these lean times.

 

She sleeps with the light on because . . .

The phone might ring;

The Angel of Death in Her chariot,

Has swept down again, mercilessly and,

In her cruel and twisted way has,

Extracted another of her loved ones.

 

She sleeps with the light on,

So that the memory of her lost loves,

Doesn’t overwhelm her,

Because they can’t – you know – if you have the light on,

The memory of the contour’s of their bodies,

Their gentle or wild thrusts,

Their whispered indulgences,

All held at bay.

 

She sleeps with the light on,

To stop the snoring in the empty room,

The footsteps on the hallway boards,

The growling from the ceiling,

The ghosts remain invisible and can’t see you,

Or hurt you with the light on.

 

She sleeps with the light on,

So that if she wakes with a night terror,

She will instantly see her lovely things around her,

And, after some time,

Gain some comfort and soothe herself back to sleep.

 

She sleeps with the light on,

Because she doesn’t know what awaits her in the black dimension;

Dreams of babies long gone,

Lovers lost, souls removed from her life by death,

Quick as a flash and still half in slumber,

She can grab her pencil & paper,

And jot down the rhymes – such as this one – as they come to her at 3am.

umbr

 

 

 

 

 

 

Mr Wordsmith:

She liked to “rescue” the hopeless cases,

Or that was what she was told anyway,

But also, he had to have a way with words,

To read her soul, to woo her back as she was walking away,

Reminisce over the good times,

Talk to her about nothing, in particular, to relax her,

Gratefully receive her mementos of love (poetry mainly),

If all of these boxes were checked, then yes, she’d take it!

He would become the latest soon-to-be ex,

Completely worthy of her love.

man and brain

 

 

Between my fingers:

She falls:

From grace,

From sight,

From God,

From herself.

 

It’s when she sleeps,

She meets them again;

All her lost loves,

The ones she let slip between her fingers.

 

girl and sleep

Daddy, I’m running on empty…

Is that you, daddy?

Is that you haunting me?

It’s time to say goodbye,

So take your noose and fly.

 

I’ll blow you a kiss,

But just remember this,

Don’t take it the wrong way,

Don’t make me regret,

Having my say.

 

Because little girls don’t know,

They just don’t know, daddy,

And I was just a little girl,

After all (I can’t make you happy)!

 

And because of you,

I can’t fill up,

Not even with the wrong men,

At the wrong time and,

In the wrong place …

girl running on empty since daddys curse

 

Don’t Fence Me In:

She couldn’t be owned,

Freedom was her only desire,

The men came and offered,

Themselves to her,

She dips her toe into the moon,

And then dives in;

The lunacy of her cycle is upon her,

She may want him now,

But she won’t in two weeks.

The roller coaster begins its ascent.

girl and cat

 

 

Did you ever really love me?

What chance did I have?

. . . and there they go,

There goes all of the people,

Like soldiers in the snow.

 

Down they go,

Straight into hell,

Gone forever from me,

(And yet still within),

Stinking up the place with their smell.

 

Little scars inside of me,

That probably won’t ever heal,

And now I’ve got writer’s cramp,

A numbness, an ambivalence,

But am peaceful in the Still.

TV2

 

 

The Ada Tree:

I took my love to the Ada Tree, the Ada Tree,
Where we could be alone, him and me,
I would tell of my dreams and two would become three.

This was my chance – his dazzling smile had stolen my heart,
At the Ada Tree; one last shot at romance,
So much had passed between us that meant so much to me.

But … at the Ada Tree,
And with much sorrow, I began to see.
“My heart belongs to her forever,” said he,
As he pulled his hand from mine: at the Ada Tree,
(where two was supposed to become three),
 Our paths unentwined.

Push him off this summit;
P’haps my anger would subside, at the Ada Tree,
– He’s no-ones if not mine.
Curse him to Kingdom come with all my witch’s might,
At the Ada Tree,
Where he left me and day turned to night.

The view from here takes your breath away,
I remember it still:
Sweet Ada Tree,
Where being became numb,
Eyes blind and I grieved a broken will.  

pretty