The Woman In The Yellow Dress

To the woman in the yellow dress
Twirling the white scarf like it’s your lover
I would like to know the secrets
You hide behind those relaxed eyes
You move with fluidity I have never seen before
The crowd are watching the band
But I’m watching you
You don’t even stop between the songs
You must be dancing to the music in your head
I can only wonder what that might be like
Or perhaps you are an empty vessel
A slave to your body
Stuck on an endless carousel ride
I will never know
And you will forever be imprinted
As the woman in the yellow dress
Who danced like like she was telling a story

The Trip To Downside Up

Over the log and into the rabbit hole
You were suspended in a kaleidoscope
Of delirium and sensual colour
Your fingers wobbled like fractal worms
Neon waves of sound undulated through your ear canals
You were falling but getting closer to the night sky
The stars were tiny fish rippling at the surface
You plunged into the water and the moon dissipated into sand
That glittered like a million flecks of gold
You floated at the bottom for a while
Large rocks whizzed by not noticing your presence
You thought you were a piece of kelp blissfully swaying
Until you felt a painful thrust through your chest
Like the barb of a fishing hook
It dredged you back too quickly
The world mixed together unnaturally
Your eyes were being stretched to the point
Where everything became a long piece of string
Being wound over and over
It got so tight that it snapped
You were back


Click-clacking teetotallers parade the street with coffee breath as blazed
Cross-leggers giggle at the lopsided puddles dribbling on the backs of ants in cracks.
Cracks violate the dry heels of Prada worshipping women, who fan their faces
Dotted with sweat beads caused by the burning demon in the sky.
Sky scrapers grow invasively like weeds dominating a garden, that tower
Over the rows of cars continuously compacting the tar coated earth.
You can see them protruding from miles away, you can see them shine from space,
Harbouring millions of compartmentalised microcosms of life.
Man and machine seem so comfortable within their concrete fortress but
They can not contend with the almighty power that inevitably sneaks through the flaws.

The Sardonic Sisters

They were perfectly nested, side by side,
On that park bench each day.
Vultures picking apart people,
Hunched in matching coats of grey.
“There’s that fat one”, they would squawk.
“The tall one with the hair lip.”
“The husband, hardly at home,
On an extended ‘business trip’.”
“I heard she has her teeth whitened.”
“I heard he wears a toupee.”
“I heard they’ve gone bankrupt,
Having gambled it all away.”
“Don’t you think it’s ghastly?”
They sneered and they awed,
“That everyone in town, but us,
Is inexplicably flawed?”

Of All Things Life Changing

Always coming to me as my back is turned

The bliss and pain

The sharp strike of emotion

The blunt trauma of numb

A conveyor belt of events one

Is never prepared for

One after the other

Under the bleak black or

The promising blue

You’re clutching hands

You’re clutching roses

Every time handled

With the blind tenacity of a child

The time to panic is when things plateau,

Because change will stalk your every shadow.

The Melancholy Song

(I wrote this a while back going through a rough patch, but that’s all over now)

The Melancholy Song

You want to escape
Yet you are afraid of the passing faces
The faster paces they make to desert you
They are quick to mock all they see
You want to isolate yourself in a room
Yet you fear what you will become without
Touch, without
Assurance, without
You want to escape
Yet everything seems to make you sad
It is not an unstable feeling
It is a deep, pensive familiarity
It is Melancholy, and it is a long-lasting fixture
It soaks your bones
It lulls your conscious
It creaks and groans
You’d wish it gone if you had
The will to wish it gone
Anonymity would suit you well
Yet these days you would need a permit in hell