age

Ageless reflection

A faded flourish

Where the headboard should be

Papered cracks, widening with age

Years of flaked skin, line the floors

And still she sits, oblivious

She doesn’t mind the damp

Likes the cool air on her skin

Doesn’t worry about closed curtains

Sunlight is her enemy

It only highlights the wear

The chair complains, as she moves

Humming her lullaby, to the cat

Who cares not for her words

As long as fingertips can still

work a tin opener

Barely registering the presence

Of visiting family

She remembers small faces

Full of grubby smiles

Yet not these strangers

These faces are long

And tired

She cannot contemplate

How they could grow old

Yet she herself, has not.

Beyond repair

It barely shows at first
Just a hairline fracture
Nestled beneath the rim

The slow erosion over time
Overuse making it’s mark
On creamy porcelain skin

Pressures of everyday life
Gnawing against it’s existence
Forcing the blemish to grow

Branching out across the belly
Of this old china teapot
Weakening both surface and below

We see them of course
Yet don’t worry about the strain
Continuing to fill it to the brim

As long as it’s job is done
The outcome still the same
We won’t question the state within

Until that one day
Water will seep from the cracks
Dampen wooden worktops
And split open from the pressure
Only then do we acknowledge
And despair at it’s demise

Mutations of Love

In childhood, it was sweet and pure
Daisy chains with my amore
Early teens, awkward and shy
A fluttering heart as love walks by
At eighteen passion tied with pain
Each heated death bled tears in vain
Obsession, lust, a heart at war
The complex love at twenty four
A few years on and still confused
Doused in fire, scorned and bruised
At thirty, flecked and fortified
A leap of faith and mortified
By thirty five, footsteps demure
Walls in place, encased secure
At forty lives a gentle hum
Sparks of joy, open to some
Fifties hopping, showing cracks
Unstable thoughts revealing facts
At sixty comfortable and slow
Set in stone, nowhere to go
A simple smile in seventies
Glancing, dancing, pleasantries
This changing tide, this vast cruel sea
Does love mutate, or is it me?

Reflection of truth

I look tired heΒ says, but means old
A gaze into the rust stained mirror confirms this
Eyes made red with erosion stare back at me
The reflection of another woman, living another life
Skin worn to a light covering, which hangs
From her cheeks, dull and lifeless
An ashen soul emerging through her bones
Threatening to smash the very existence of her being.
She is a stranger, with her greasy hair flecked with chalk
Pinched lips, exhausted from the daily notions of professing wellness
Nails that would claw a man to death yet snap at the very suggestion
A constellation of freckles spread across her nose, strengthening with age
Her sadness reaches out and I press my palm to hers as if we understand each other’s plight
And though we stand together in this moment

It is her eye that allows a tear to form, but not I

Just an average man

The numbers speak for themselves

5ft 10 – Lets try again

That universal average

13 stone – oh leave it alone

A list of aspiration,

Size 9 -Still feeling fine?

Conformations of disappointment

5.1 – But where is that done?

Β 

All these numbers are to me

Are restrictions on us being free

What is an average if not dull

These lists and stats are due a cull

Β 

Though 4.7 makes me grin

Because you think that’s rather thin