Tag Archives: relationships

I choke on the morgue
That coils my heart.
Tightened by the bloody strings
Of veins, turned red, in the dark.

So I am beat.

10264949_10155278882035198_1243121932_n


‘If you are a nettle, then I am stung.’

These are undoubtedly the sweetest and most profound words that have ever been spoken to me. Although perhaps formed in an air of jest, I believe they tell and acutely accept the very nature of what it is to, and be in, love.

To love is to accept that humans have the capacity to inflict pain and are, in so many other ways, flawed.

It also encapsulates how love isn’t a bed of ever blooming flowers. It is, by definition, the extremity that incorporates the entire spectrum of feelings and emotions. Love can indeed sting but it can also blossom. It can grow in the quiet corners of our mind until it becomes impossible to ignore- releasing its unruly consequences- much like the spurs of nettles.

11075751_10155260427395198_1803280861_n


We had always stayed rooted in our home town. My wife and I did not rely upon recycled dreams of travelling the world in order to justify our existence. We enjoyed how our trees arched beyond the hills and how our neighbours never changed and how we always knew exactly what to expect. When there is no future there is no time and nothing to pass you by.

It was autumn when the Merriweathers moved in to the cottage next door. Those walls had been empty for a long while and I greatly enjoyed the company of no-one.  I had little care of my own to meet them, though my wife was persistent that we should make a good first impression. That was another flaw with women; they required, almost insatiably, to be liked. When the moving vans and cardboard boxes diluted, we laundered the third best bottle of wine from our pantry and cheerfully arrived at our new neighbour’s new house. As the door opened, so did Mr. Merriweather’s stonking eyes as he observed the beauty of my wife. He was perplexed at our apparent offering of free booze until we unveiled the nature of our arrival. Our adjacent living situation was apparently a cause for celebration. He welcomed us in and we sat a few hours and drank from bubble-wrapped glasses. Of course he was a promising doctor of some sort; his wife was three kids down but not looking too bad on it. Luckily James, Lucy and Michael were spending that afternoon elsewhere but I did not doubt that I would soon be hearing their acquaintance from our unnervingly close radius. My wife could not bear children, but not in the same way that I couldn’t. Hence, my last name has remained, and will remain, my own.
I did not like Martin Merriweather. Nobody, especially that soon after moving into a new house, could present such a fine tray of cakes in the face of unexpected guests. If you have Mr. Kipling on standby, it can only be concluded that you think too highly of yourself or too low and Martin did not have the physique of a man who found comfort in confectioneries.
10955740_10155076730275198_3225968583693751228_n


Target.
Sweet,
Unfortunate.
Arrows fire
Your name.
Frazzled in
The gust
That howls
Its aim.
Rotten love
Scoured,
In its
Ripened flame.

10686865_10155073266435198_9182983565559921508_n


Biological warfare
Chugs the biting
Froth of my
Love
Left to rot.
For you, prey,
Dupe,
I am cruelty
Softened by
A soured milk
Complexion.
And if you so
Choose to
Seize my honing
Hand, and fall for my
Affection,
Sweet misery.
Bliss.
Venomous
Kiss.
10885524_10154948220400198_1063089355963639495_n


I blossomed in
Your crown,
Held swiftly by
Your limbs,
Safe unto your bole.
Until the cold came
Like a curtain call
Veins turned dry.
You let me go in the fall.

This poem attempts to interpret a literal meaning of the term ‘family tree’, contrasting the strength of a family (or ‘blood’) bond by the fragility of nature and, in my case, the fragility of humankind.

10372225_10154785065105198_5778993953409564979_n


There once was a girl
With golden hair,
Curls like diamonds
And locks so fair

She caught a man’s eye
Like the rays of a Sun
‘With hair as fine as yours,
I think you are the one’.

They were happily wed
Under her golden veil
Until a darkened hour
When money grew stale

‘We have no choice’
Her husband did declare
‘But to cut off and sell
Your golden hair’

Their table became full
But her locks did wane
And now she was a girl
With looks quite plain.

‘Where is my wife?’
Said a love gone cold
‘Like my heart she has vanished,
Sold, along with her hair of gold.’

This poem was inspired by a somewhat sombre idea I had for a Children’s book.

10441016_10154756577540198_6587305319682544474_n


My love was a letter
With no return address,
Sent through the blinds
Of a mellow cloudiness

Fresh wings, kept
afloat by a tangle of
strings

-lies-

Soaring
until the top
where-
after all-
it is the only place
for a lover to
fall.

10385585_10154580069095198_1441263177936225959_n

This poem is a work in progress, but after a kind and earnest reminder, today is National Poetry day so I felt obliged to honour this with a few rhymes and silly musings.



%d bloggers like this: