Floating Until Left

Plenty of fish in the sea
Plenty of dead ones floating
Floating lifelessly
Floating endlessly
Endlessly stuck in a cycle
Endlessly bobbing along
Along the cold surface
Along the same lines
Lines of the horizon
Lines of a tourist's sight
Sight for the sorest eyes
Sight that fades away
Away from memories
Away from the aged
Aged like rotting milk or
Aged like wine
Wine sat in a cellar
Wine that's finely labelled
Labelled as refined
Labelled to raise the price
Price too high to pay
Price holds us back
Back from all our dreams
Back to the start
Start to feel bitter
Start to feel angry
Angry at the system
Angry at the man
Man united in struggle
Man up for the fight
Fight for what you want
Fight for that love
Love of another
Love of a connection
Connection to their heart
Connection severed so fast
Fast to move out
Fast to sell up
Up the ante
Up the stakes
Stakes in the dating pool
Stakes in the game
Game of dating
Game of swiping right
Right to get a winner
Right right left
Left with the dead
Left without anymore fish

Sea Mist

Soon you will be washed upon the sands of time as a memory left on the tongue tips of the angels left behind. Your physical form will be gradually reborn from the glistening teardrops we’ll cry in chorus as your body is bid to the eternal dust. You’ll slip into the arms of family through the gap of our knowing and feeling; welcomed and soothed by the same loving presence you too once grieved. All the fear you feel in the shallows of this vast ocean will no longer matter as you begin to drift between the folding waves of a final sleep. Goodbyes won’t be whispered into the sea, but the thickening mist will nod, on my behalf, that we’ll meet again someday.

Marshmallow Tar

Death's kiss, 
with all of it's surgical precision, 
cannot wash away your scent. 
Sweet burnt marshmallow
pooled in the final sands of the hourglass - 
a tar to keep the coffin sealed.
Stale espresso left in the morning dew
whispers that it tastes the same - 
a brew far more bitter than the lonely truth.

The Girl That Could Dance

Outstretched legs that could reach the sky,
And nails long enough to lose an eye.
Curves small and soft, but defined and outlined,
Face tight, flawless, and often kind.
Pointed toes that swept deftly, precise,
And affection that came at a price,
Back tickled with golden hair,
A body most beautiful bare.
Elegant movements, jeté, plié,
Childish as very cliché.
Parents who raised their child right,
With the grace of a mythic sprite.

Shame everyone else had loved her too.

The Woman Wore Purple

​I had spent many hours with her,
​Both young and grown.
I had grown beside her kin,
With a mother who shared her blood.
She was reckless in my mother’s eyes,
Wild as the wind that she flew on.
A woman who lived by no law,
But by principle of her own heart.
She near always smiled at me,
And she laughed at my cynicisms.
We drank several nights away,
At the bar, or on the step of a shop door.
Like many young, I fled the nest,
Spread my wings for lands afar,
Leaving them all behind me,
But visiting with growing infrequency.
On my return there would be happy reunion,
Drinks, songs, smokes, smiles, laughs.
Gatherings of the now grown and their young,
Besides our elders now older once more.
But time did fly by quicker,
And 15 months seems to blink fast.
And soon I am beckoned back,
Returning to see her again.
My mother, as always,
Holding the hands of my family,
As a means to hold their souls, their bodies,
And their strength, in an upwards fashion.
Me, smiling through, as taught,
Showing that the living are not afraid.
I hold her hair 'twix my fingers,
And braid in flowers as we laugh.
I roll her smokes, before my own,
The legality of them questionable,
As she waves between here and there,
Jittery with fear of being wedded.
I paint over the hollowing skin,
Lighten her sunken eyes,
With a mixture of tones, pigments,
Creams and powders, brushes and sponges.
The clocks strikes and the camera clicks,
She grins as she is wheeled along,
I press the button as she makes vows,
Promises to be short lived and kept.
We drank, we smoked, we laughed,
I sang, for she couldn’t any longer,
I walked for her, towing the chair,
And navigated with care and fear.
Family gathered, united, strong again,
Smiling at the simple pictures I captured,
Wondering at the beauty of her,
Of her soul, of her love.
The woman wore purple,
As a bride, draped in purple and white,
As a mother, through waking night,
As my aunt, when hugging me tight.
The woman wore purple,
And when I saw her last, she wore it still.
Though I’ll never see her again,
I know the woman wears purple.


We used to sit and talk,
Until the late hours.
But tonight I sit alone,
A cold void next to me,
My only company,
A cigarette, lit of strawberry,
Like the ones we ate in the summer.

Tonight no laughter,
No giggles at the trivial.
You used to stroke my hair,
And say 'Baby,
'You should get some sleep.'
I'd laugh, I knew,
Really you were tired.

We'd lie on the bed,
Gazing at the ceiling,
As if it was a star lit sky,
Repeatedly say goodnight,
And laugh between.
Perhaps exchange tender kisses.

But no kisses tonight,
No repeated good-nights,
No childish laughter.
Just emptiness, void.

Maybe I'm always looking,
To find you again,
To have those times.
But I won't find you.
I need to relearn love,
It's differences, it's newness.
But I won't open my heart,
Not yet, I'm not ready.

I've loved others,
Made love with others,
But the depth, complexity,
Is missing, empty.

My whole heart buried,
Beneath the grass we led on,
One day I'll let go enough,
To take it back.
But I find solace,
​In the void it leaves.

It Had to be Said

It had to be said,
No more lies, or stories,
No more running away.
It just had to be said.
Or it never would,
The explosion would have killed,
Crucified, murdered, burned,
The last aspects of ourselves.

It had to be said,
No more pretending,
No more faking everything,
It had to be said.
Or we'd never know.
If we'd have been free,
To fell, to love, to cherish,
Anything ever again.

It had to be said,
No more secrets,
No more twisting the truth,
It had to be said.
Or I would have been dragged.
Pulled away from me,
The remnants left behind,
contorted and burned.

It had to be said,
No more sleepless nights,
No more pointless arguments,
It had to be said.
Or I will be the guilty party.
I will be the one who lied,
I'd have been the one who hurt,
Who burned everything in your eyes.

It had to be said,
No more silence, or quiet,
No more deceit.
It. Had. To. Be. Said.
Or I'd be someone I can't be.
I'd want what I can't have,
I'd love what isn't mine,
But not what is.

It had to be said,
No more tears, They'll dry,
No more hating, hurting.
It had to be said.

Why Does it Hurt?

Why does it hurt to love you so much?
And know my love is not returned.
It's like being the beggar in a gallery,
Falling for a painting,
Knowing it will never be a centre-piece
In the hallway.

Why does it hurt to love you so much?
Knowing it's just my heart.
To see you in pain burns my soul,
Because you have no obligation to it,
No cause or reason, it feeds desire,
To protect, to comfort, to hold.

Why does it hurt to love you so much?
Even if I'm just another person.
No matter how much I think I know,
I will never be let it.
You torture yourself as I watch,
In this twisted horror picture show.

Why does it hurt to love you so much?
Yet I swear you just want my pain.
It is your desire to feel normal,
You listen, purely to know you're not alone.
Not to fully care I know.

Why does it hurt to love you so much?
To have had you in my arms,
To have been in your arms,
To have felt that content,
In myself, in my company. And yet,
Know it will never be mine

One More Bottle of Wine

Let's get a bottle of wine and talk about it over dinner,
It's going to be a hard pill to swallow.
I'll have to stick to my guns.

In fact, let's get two bottles of wine, one each,
You will probably hate me for what I'll say.
I've got to, for me, for once, be truthful.

Screw it, let's get a third bottle of wine.
This will be too hard to say without a drink.
I can do this, but I don't know if you can.

Sod it, three bottles of wine, but no dinner,
I don't want to cook.
The truth already fills my mouth,
Already churns my stomach.
Everything is going to change beyond belief.

Right, okay, three bottles of wine,
And we'll talk over the phone.
I can't sit and watch the truth sodomise your heart.
I have to say it out loud though.

Never mind. No Wine. No Dinner. No Phone call.
Just talking, painful, pitiful talking.
About how I can't do this,
It's time to walk away.
Time to leave.