Verse: the horses

(for HSF, whoever you were, wherever you are...)

in among the frayed
and yellowed record sleeves
i found your rebellion

your refutation
of your belief
in god

that you
despite your concerted effort
could not consummate

despite your
deep-seated desire to cause
great hurt to your parents

it is
you said
not human nature

to be hypocritical
sneaky or hateful
but i think you were wrong

i've always found
that was so easy
to do

it's harder
to be honest
gracious and giving

particularly when
you think there is
no one watching

i was reminded
of my own rebellion
so many years ago

that day
in november
buried in snow

i had
a moment
of great terror

a sense
of great darkness
in my soul

the sense
that my mind, my will
was not my own

and i fell
into a winterlong
abyss

so great
my discomfort
with gods and devils

unseen forces
engaged in brinkmanship
for my fate

that i decided
i would let it
all go

my will
my life
would be mine to plot

and my spirituality
would be grounded
in things i could see and touch

all of that
came flooding back
reading your goodbye

the way you blamed your parents
for what you were
i did too

it had all the finality
of a suicide note
but maybe i'm wrong

maybe when you left
you only left home
and your name behind

you got married
had kids
grew plump and bald

watched stray hair
fall into your sink
from your razor

inspected the dark
violet bruises of
sleeplessness

below your heavy
lidded eyes and wondered
how you got there

or you became a legend
if to no one else
maybe in your mind

there are many outcomes
i can attempt
for you

but they are all
imagined and
imposed

like the bridle
on a horse
i reined you in here

like some god
i gave you
a fate

when all you wanted
was what i wanted
when i was in your chaos

to be out there
and running
for nothing and no one

to be unburdened
by the world
and beyond

to be free.

Verse: pickles

(for @picklelou)

bejeweled with sweat
when retrieved
from the back
of the fridge
i hold the jar
in my hand and
with some exertion
remove the lid

this is a moment
suspended in time
a moment punctuated
by a pop, and then
the familiar aroma
of vinegar and garlic
fills the kitchen
makes my tongue tingle
with anticipation

a moment
broken only
when the tip
of my incisor
pierces that tense
and dimpled skin
releasing
the tangy nectar
and soft flesh
within.

Verse: Judgments

(for @careywinkle)

we stand
in a circle

around our crime
our creation

each of us
complicit

in our
own way

cast stone
stares, waiting

for one to shoulder
the guilt

so we can all
be innocent again.

Verse: the ballad of @lucyspet

(for Kris, with a K, who understands the appeal of Blakroc, Baltimora and other things that begin with the letter B)

here comes
the night again

sliding out
of his duster

and cozying up
like we're old friends

plying me
with vodka

and telling me
i'm holy

that one day
i'll scorch the sky

and the world will know
my righteousness

thinking he
can slip one in

when i'm
not looking

but i'm
not having it

about to drag him
outside

make him
walk it off

i think he
forgets himself

i'm not
so easily persuaded

and there is
nothing i can't lick

can i get
an amen?

Verse: song for someone

(NB: one year ago today, I started this blog. It was meant to be a marketing blog. The poems decided otherwise. They had been content to be posted on Facebook when I started writing them again after a very, very, very long and self-imposed silence. But they wanted their own room. And this became their space. This is not how I intended to write today's poem. Not quite anyway. Life got in the way. So it is an approximation. I could tell a tale like Coleridge did to explain Xanadu, but I think he lied, and I am not to be trusted in matters of the muse.)

this song
does not know you

at least not
your name

so allow me to make
this introduction

if it seems
insecure

it is only because
it is nothing without you

it has no voice
of its own

i did not
intend it for you

it could be
for anyone

so share it
and you may find

the object
of its desire

someone willing
to claim it

and now
that this one is done

there will be
an intermission

a brief silence
before the next one

though it has
already begun

and i am writing
your name in it
now.

Verse: The Walking

(one of my fave poets and tweeps, @mergyeugnau challenged me to write a poem of verbs and nouns only. I think I cheated a bit, but here it is...)

i cross chebucto
nodding to the guard

the sign
says harvard

but i
can't hear it

the sound
from the playground

and the traffic
has drowned it out

i pass
duncan, lawrence

streets named for men
I don't know

and turn on allan
as the cars slow

the eyes
of these houses

do not blink
or acknowledge me

nor do people
who pass

am i
not here

my feet do not
bruise the sidewalk

there is
no snow

to leave
a trail

for you
to follow

just my breath
and

the beat
of my heart

racing as
i approach monastery

knowing i
will see you

in minutes
in seconds

waiting
for me

i apologize
for my haste

in telling
you this

there is
no time to colour

or embellish
this moment

this experience
but I promise

i will fill in
the details later.

Verse: Paolo's Song

(for my v-bro, @twiteryeanot, who likes birds, bees, flowers, trees... two out of four isn't bad)

do those bees
ever rest

always hunting,
gathering

running here
and there

the constant drone
reminds me

of lorries
congested on the M8

you'd think they'd know
it's a holiday

let it be
resolved

the only bustle
should be

soft green waves
of meadow grass

tickling stately elms
and oaks

until their
cozy canopies

of leaves
begin to tremble

and stroke the infinite
arms of the sky

bare but for
the occasional cloud

the only punctuation
necessary

for such
a perfect day

Verse: Kites

(thanks to @lagonk for the tweet that I stole from him...)

something about
the colour of the wind

when it is
out of breath

or the scent
of the living sky

nestled on
the river bank

compels me to tether
myself to you

and close my eyes
for a while

maybe later
when we are awake

and untangled
we could try

to touch our reflections
in the water

as they
go drifting by

Verse: this is my love

this is
my love

it is
in chaos

and in
pragmatic silence

in life
being love

and my
open mouth

it is
here now

in air
and light

in distances
and increments

shadows and
warm whispers

it is
not enough

and yet
too much

for me
to express

and i
wait only

for you
to take

this longing
from me

I cannot
bear it

any more.

Verse: Lynn's poem

(today is @Lynn_H_I's birthday. On Wednesday, she asked me to write a poem for today about 'both the beauty and fear of increasing age.' This is the result. Happy Birthday, Lynn. I hope this is okay.)

i
every day
i'm born

delivered from dreams
of everything and nothing
to the light

and the struggle
to make sense
of my surroundings

as i stumble
to the mirror
to find my face

to remember
who i am
now

i'm always afraid
i won't recognize me
but there i am

and everything
is a little bit grayer
a little bit softer

gravity
pinches my cheeks
tugs on my skin

like a child
clutches her mother's hand
in the market

it won't let go
and i think
when did I get so old?

how is it
always different
and yet the same

be my mirror now
tell me what you see
and be kind

if you can't
be honest

ii
i have this theory
that we are like grapes

smooth youth
that ripen
in the sun

until we sag
and shrivel

are we not
just as sweet
as before

if not
more so

all that life
so acutely concentrated

and longing
for one glance
your lips

iii

how many times
have i imagined
us years from now

watching TV
without a word
you, me

each of us glancing
occasionally at the other
just as we do now

just for one smile
just to see if we're
still there

it seems so modest
so mundane
and yet necessary

i cannot
imagine the future
without you

iv
enough
let us go
let us dine
drink or dance

before darkness
and its million
silver minions
find us

let us love
a while yet
before our bodies
break

let us
go on this way
forever, now
as long as we can

we could
even write
our own endings
in the meantime

they will be
suspenseful
tender and
sometimes sublime

but
most important of all
they will be
our own