Forest Cave

In the soul of the forest

Trees crowded in an ancient meeting

Wings beating against your ears

As the secrets I whisper in trust to you

Hang in the fogged air like

The scent of life and death on your skin

Give me your sorrow as I give mine

In this realm connected and out of place

I want to feel every piece

Every quiver like the deer

That is always waiting for something bad

To understand how it is you are here

A man that has walked beside the reaper

Since you were a child

Fear has warped into numbness

The acceptance of chaos

As healing as a fire

That rips through the forest

Enabling the growth of new things

It can never be as it was

Admit to yourself that nothing matters

Yet the sun matters to the canopy

As it reaches for its warmth

Reach for me

Dweller of darkness

Tell your story to the night

Rest your head on the moss

Let yourself pretend for a moment

You are nothing but flowers

Bursting from the ground

Pale and beautiful

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

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Crawl

Fingernails tunneled deep into mud
Scooping burrowing crescents
Earth smell compacted nose to brain
Lactic acid swelled in biceps
Embracing the earth
Like snake or worm
Leaking legs grew cold
Hands hastened by the drag
Of the hourglass losing sand
Disorientated memories flood
Of a lifetime far behind
Silenced by a shadow

So Will I

They’ll die, and so will I.

I don’t believe in heaven or hell.
I believe in the great black nothingness
Where nothing will dwell
And nobody missed.

You’ve been in the black,
Like before you were born.
In sleep, you sometimes go back
But you’ll return when you’re gone.

They’ll die, and so will I.

Parents are failing children.
Politicians are failing people.
The decay always sets in.
The outcome is always lethal.

Is it such a bad concept?
Life is an overload on the senses.
But there is a certainty we can accept
In that death will rid us of all pretenses.

They’ll die, and so will I.

We won’t know of our absence.
Our loved ones won’t either.
You won’t be left in suspense.
You won’t be a survivor.

There is a kind of comfort
That a civilisation of division and war
Will leave with the same escort
And be no more.

The leaves on trees and birds in the sky.
They’ll die, and so will I.

Grandpa

Dear Grandpa, wherever you are,

I recall sitting on your knee and goggling at your false teeth.
Cackling at the sight of your bare gums you bared sneakily behind disapproving Grandma.
Honking your nose as if you were my very own clown there for my entertainment.
You were a contradiction; you had a dignified countenance but a slapstick alter ego.
In old photos you were the typical English gentleman, clad in a suit, slight smile and lovingly by Grandma’s side. Those photos were black and white, but I can remember your olive skin and subtly vibrant personality.
I choose to remember you like this.
Towards the end, as I sat anxiously across the dining table from you, I might have well as been a stranger for that’s all that I was to you but I know it wasn’t your fault, nor your wish.
It almost made it easier I was six at the time, as I couldn’t imagine going through it now. My age shielded me from too much grief from lack of understanding.
Now it seems almost bizarre you passed away in the living room. I felt confronted with fear for the first time, seeing you still on the rented hospital bed. I was too scared to kiss you goodbye because you weren’t you anymore. You were the first dead person I had seen.
Although it makes me sad I can’t remember your thick accent, at least I have one or two happy memories of you. I would have loved to get to know you, and grow up with you. I know everybody, especially Grandma, misses you very much.

Love your Granddaughter.

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.

Fog Song (Reworking of T.S Eliot’s poem ‘Marina’)

This was a part of an exercise in my Experimental Writing class where we had to rework a piece of writing we liked.

For those of you who don’t know it, you can go to this link: http://poetry.rapgenius.com/Ts-eliot-marina-annotated

My goal was to reverse the original poem. ‘Marina’ was about an aging father lamenting his deceased daughter who was lost at sea. ‘Fog Song’ is the response from Marina. The title came from the idea that her voice calls out to him from the fog on the shores.

Fog Song

O’Father further
cracked with ice-fire
you have forgotten you remember
rotting June weak September
dissolved by a fog song grace
your conscious unknown knows
time beyond yourself where you spoken
for I un-spoken resigning your awake for I
un-woken
What world towards hurrying timbers
does nearer, lesser meet