Poems of Smoke

Among The Coals

Born in the hazed amber
I was swaddled and charred.
Another faceless giver
In a faceless sea
Waiting to choke

Tarred and Feathered

Inhale, hold, exhale
Self inflicted.
Slowly pluck feathers
spring chickens
Cluck no more
- cough - cough -
Burn one more
Spark up

Smother

Science is unwelcome
It's unholy.
Innovation is unholy
It's unwelcome.
Dunk the witch
She'll float
Burn the witch
She'll choke

Parched

She's gasping again
Under the wildfire.
Mother Earth gasps
Inland on avocado smoke
While you're eating
Avocado on toast

Imperfect

Intuitively I knew to let it go before
My mind fixated on it too much.
Perhaps I could distract myself
Entirely from my own insecurity that's
Reaching it's clawed hand up
From the pits of my stomach to scratch my
Esophagus as though it's itching.
Controlling the impulse is pointless because -
Take that apostrophe and that space -

I'm Perfect

Driving Forwards

There was traffic on the A19
The toll of incorrect change and
Passes in the wrong lane
Past the deadline for paying, again.

If one day the heat of the moment
Rises beyond the honked horn,
The River Tyne will boil with such a rumble
That crayfish will float among the Nissans.

Vicious Thirst

Originally Written 08/05/2020, Edited 12/05/2021

I want to set my teeth into your throat; 
Gargle sour blood around your larynx 
And tease out your last gasping breath.

I want to kiss the lines of your jugular: 
To rip away the freckled fleshy covering 
Stimulating my taste buds on its pulsing surface.

I want to play maestro with your nerves; 
And watch you twitch and convulse like a puppet 
As I pluck the taught tendrils one by one.

I want to pick my teeth with your hyoid; 
Scrape from my grin your lingering remains
To purge the taste of you from my mouth

Citrine Dreamer

Originally Written 09/05/2020, Edited 12/05/2021

Bestowed gift of manifestation
As laid by this babe's head,
Bring abundance to this child
With bounds yet to be unknown.
Create from his flesh a conduit
Flowing bountiful in curiosity
And free in unabashed glee.
Fortify his bones against misery
And afford him only adoration.
Grant him true expression of
Boundless and pure creativity
Cascading from his fingertips
Or coursing from his pouting lips.

Hold his tongue from envious spite.
Transform those jealous intentions
Into tangible and fortuitous actions.
Harbour angers, fears and explosions
To free his spirit for fresh pursuits.
Transmute his negative shadows
Into innovative and fertile passions
That may regenerate his being
And unshackle his ambitions.
Produce from this humble bairn
An infant of widened eyes and heart;
An enduring and steadfast being.
Make him true, fair citrine dreamer.

Writing in Café Covid-19

Original 10/05/2020, Edited 12/05/2021

There’s no dull background noise;
Everything sits in the small foreground.
The music; curated for a young child,
Is as conducive to creative writing as
Feeding a lazy dog all of my pens
And burning each of my notebooks.
This room knows my name,
Yet insists on calling me mother
At every conceivable moment;
At each attempt to concentrate
On putting pen to digital paper.

Although, I’m not being charged extra
For dairy-free milk and chocolate syrup.

Spirit of the Sprite

The day has too few a sunrise to explore
But the innumerous colours are counted
In ritual along the distant early skyline anyway. 
Beyond the principle of merely being, 
There's the principle of endless sight seeing
Fluttering on the delicate iridescent wingtip. 
Although all sights are born of intrinsic good, 
Reality requires a respite of recuperation
So the sprite may realign it's own energies. 

Wrapped in nature's most pastoral gifts
The sprite feasts on the bounty of true justice:
Nourished by the fundamentals of harmony
So it may be vibrant in passionate expression.
Though delicate to the lowly observing eye, 
The spirit of the sprite is bodaciously hardy,
Fearlessly inspired by the very air it breathes:
Time had tested itself, and failed to win battle
Against the ethereal protector of land and sea.

Breccia

A beautifully imperfect creation, 
Mottled in angst and frustration,
Capturing stray drops of sunlight
To warm you on the colder nights. 
The open evening air calls you
To gain that moment of solitude
Between the sediments of thought
Lined and calmed in melodies. 
You don't absorb or reflect
When bathing in the day's light, 
But refract polychromatic splendour
Through your fused shrapnel.
Each playing piece considered and
Placed within the web of fragments
Builds a mosaic of endurance:
A tenacious testament of truth, 
Boldly embraced through fractures
And acknowledged reality splinters. 
The weathered debris of survival
Formed you a formidable warrior
Encased in your own clast armour:
Sharply witted within awareness, 
Yet dynamically poised, prepared 
For metamorphic elevation.

Question Touch

Do you have to scrub your skin too?
Scratch off it’s surface over and over
Until twenty burning layers away
From the tracks of unwanted caress?

Remember as the acid seeps through
And you lose that arrogant composure,
That I am only just beginning to play
With these things that helps me ‘process.’

Have you ever had to show your face
When no-one knows the predator won?
Force a smile, a dead eyed, dull grin,
Hoping when friends hug you don’t flinch.

Centre of the tooth, with nerve in place,
I’ll drill a hole through every single one,
Thread through each a fine steel string
To pull them slow with a hand crank winch.

When you’ve walked passed each other
Have you been filled with complete terror?
Did you grasp tightly at your fabric clothes
As though they’ll protect from the shame?

It’s so gratifying to watch as you suffer.
The chemicals turned your skin to leather
It’s time to cut that wailing tongue into rows
I hope I don’t strike a vein, I like this game.

Does the night bring back all the memories
That weigh you down with its terrifying grip?
Do you hope that by the morning sunrise
Your heart would stop it’s painful beating?

I’d quit the whining, there are no remedies
As I watch you choke behind glued lips.
I can’t stand to be devoured by your eyes
But a pin prick will remove their seeing.

Are your days filled with asking why?
Blaming yourself for being the prey,
Breaking yourself down ‘til you barely exist
Pretending it never hurt you that much.

I’m sure you’re all but ready to die?
But you don’t look like your inner decay!
I’ll let you decompose in your own shit
Because a touch is not just a touch.