Prose

Cold Nights

Its the way you shake your head 

When she tries to stroke your hair 

As you dream 

The disgruntled twitch  

Where fingertips skim bare skin  

The nights that once held you entwined  

Now force her adrift 

Where once you lay open 

Inviting her head upon your chest 

These days 

Replaced by a cold shoulder  

Your heartbeat sheltered  

Away from her ears 

Back to back  

She struggles to feel your warmth 

Yet in the clear daylight  

You ponder why she has grown cold 

Troubled facade

When you wrap me in your cold dead arms
and tell me that I am the only one.
Then my dear I know that you are lying
When you holler my name,
in the street
whilst I stand by your side,
waiting for the rain to break.
Umbrella hanging sadly
down at my waist.
Here
I know you are not without scorn
As you tie my legs to a lamppost
brimming with desire and contempt
and bruise me
with the flat palm of your knife
like only you can.
Then I know you are weak
And in that instance,
at that moment
In the slight pause between night and day
I see you for the first time.
See who You really are.
See your ugly soul rebound off my being
and into your heart.
Desperately beating out the tone of the tune.
Drilling into your head
buried under plastic jars and paper plates.
Marvelling at sounds you have never heard
nor have wont to.
Stories of days gone by and feelings past
and the death of something true
someone true.
Yet all the while you sit silently
and play to the fire of the gun

Waiting for your ship to come in

If you have never felt it then you will never understand but those of you that have will instantly recognise the feeling.

Those moments when the time seems to slow and you become aware that for some reason you are waiting. Waiting for life to change, waiting for it to start, waiting for the storm to come and tear your world asunder forcing you to move from the island. The island created by you.

Be it consciously or not, you must be aware that you placed yourself on an island, surrounded by a force field which holds you there. Makes you a prisoner of your own making. Are you kept there by fear of the unknown, fear of change or simply a desire to stay in familiar surroundings waiting for the ship to come and save you. Because this seems an easier option..the safer one.

The problem arises when the ship arrives

Worn out with time

I’m always here for you
It seems
continuously waiting
Frozen in time
A stopwatch
That waits
To be wound up

I sit in the dark
Gathering dust
Until you remember
me once again
And reach out
My body activating
Under your touch
Cold at first
Yet still I tick for you
Slowly, hesitantly
Increasing velocity
As you play me
Just another toy
Another trophy in your cabinet
Ready to hide or shine
Dependant on your whim
And though defiant
I purr under your stroke
Hoping the next wait
Does not take such a heavy toll

My Cold Hearted Boyfriend

He lies beside me at night
As I write the words which sustain me
The noises he makes sometimes distracting
Causing me to look up from my work
Or my useless crap
(as he liked to call it)

Sometimes I move too sudden
And he presses his damp skin on mine
Forcing me to give him a push
To keep him at bay
A little love shove

Then I can carry on
Typing up my masterpiece
Immune to his judgemental silence
And vacant stare

Once I had writers block
Asked for help
Inspiration
Yet he only wanted to sleep
His raspy breath on my arm
Echoes of snuffling and snoring
Reverberating in my ears
Forcing my words to hide
My eyelid to twitch
My knuckles to crack

He doesn’t snore anymore
Though he still lingers
Like a bad smell

Inspired for Darkside Thursday

POETRY 101 REHAB: DEADLINE

Got to get up

Got to get moving

Got to keep my goals in mind

As I get older

The list grows longer

Already I’ve fallen behind

But no time for sulking

No time to stop

Got to keep ploughing ahead

So much to do now

so little time

Yet still I can’t get out of bed

 

Something inspired by Poetry 101 Rehab

 

Her Monopoly on Luck

She will sashay around the houses
Glide over Park Lane and Mayfair
Yet grumble about her time spent
On Old Kent Road
Where she had to talk
To a man, that was a dog
Trying to chase a top hat
in the wind

If she finds herself
behind bars
Flush with cash
She will still roll the die
And grumble at the double
Thrown on the third try
Instead of the first
She’s so unlucky

When she takes a chance
on life, on the game
She gets a trip to Pall Mall
That’s declared a waste
She never had to pass go
Never mind the opportunity
to buy, arose from this
The deed quietly tucked away

She catches a train
Two in fact
Yet complains
About sharing the connection

Pouts at not winning
The beauty competition
The grey note scrunched
In her hand
As the banker glares

It’s not fair
When she gets hit for street repairs
Those ten hotels make a dent
If only she had none
Like the iron
So unjust

Life was just not fair
To a girl like her