think of home for me, will you? hear the kettle boiling in the background, lone wolf howling in the night; the crockery clattering like crickets chirping; the steaming mug of coffee turning whiter still with every drop of milk.
remember the beige carpets, the perilous stairs, the strange creaking under floorboards: my parents’ house. or nobody’s house. a piece of rented haven.
but it was home. and d’you remember the first time we made out on the sofa in the living room downstairs? the day after i turned single and we couldn’t wait much longer? the irony of that day was not lost on me. how could it be? the impact on the window smashing is not forgotten by the frame: the memory is always there – gentle pulpitations in the soft grooves of the wood.
you see, beginnings shape the world.
quietly, carefully, they smooth the edges, polish outer surfaces, let us glean a little of the inside. they are a little mirror straight into the lover’s heart, a sphere held between the middle finger and the thumb, a kite.
it’s the beginning that lets me know where home is: with my hands on your neck; with your head on my lap.
you can have the whole of me in this field:
i pressed my soul into its loins
and beads of sweat still glisten
on the body learning to tango
in the outpour of rain.
i will surrender only here
so take care not to move even a strand of hair
from beneath the tree where i will lay through my whole life,
as if dying prematurely,
for this is home and i forbid you.
a day will come when spring will open me enough
for sun to shine
into the roots of the old cambridge tree
and open up
the rest of me.
—————————————————————-
i’ve been writing this poem for a while now and it feels forever unfinished. maybe that’s just me, always a word out, a syllable in. and then i give up and start something else. at the end of the day, however, i always come back to this. and the oldest tree in cambridge.
Posted in excerpts
Tagged always, back, beads, been, beneath, body, cambridge, can, care, come, day, dying, else, end, enough, even, feels, field, for, forbid, forever, from, give, glisten, hair, have, here, home, in, into, is, lay, learning, life, loins, maybe, me, move, my, not, now, of, old, oldest, only, open, opened, out, outpour, poem, poems, poetry, prematurely, pressed, rain, rest, roots, shine, something, soul, spring, start, still, strand, sun, surrender, sweat, syllable, take, tango, that, the, then, this, through, tree, unfinished, up, when, where, while, whole, will, word, writing, you
home is my prison, beating heart trapped within these four walls.
whole life spent in affirmation of having seen beauty, but how? i can’t even see beyond the metal bars of this cage. trapped in an illusion of golden locks and impurity of pure white snow.
yes, this is convention.
i didn’t need anyone’s help to lace me into this corset. i didn’t make you wait to take me to the ball. no carriages will carry me in this world.
there’s always time, —-
that’s what you say, calling me by my name, every syllable grounding me further into this quicksand. truth is, there isn’t time. all there is is this yearning need to –cease. then, colours stop swirling and coloured lights hush with their bright song of desire.
i am a fire.
i burn in this empty shell. you know it well. and i flash instead of them coloured lights, where every day is christmas, where sun burns red with passion of one’s life.
kiss me now.
tomorrow it will be too late.
tomorrow we will celebrate.
Posted in chapters of my life
Tagged affirmation, all, always, anyone, ball, bars, beat, beauty, beyond, bright, burn, burns, cage, call, carriage, carry, cease, celebrate, christmas, coloured, colours, convention, corset, day, desire, empty, even, every, fire, flash, four, further, golden, ground, have, heart, help, home, how, hush, illusion, impurity, instead, isn't, kiss, know, lace, late, life, lights, locks, make, me, metal, my, name, need, now, one, passion, prison, pure, quicksand, red, say, see, shell, snow, song, spent, sun, syllable, take, their, there, these, this, time, tomorrow, too, trap, trapped, truth, wait, walls, well, where, white, whole, with, within, world, yearning, yes, you
so much to do, so little time.
and yet, there’s always time to feel. there must be, else what do we life for? not this sense of helpless continuity, surely?
so i run out of the house to take in the exhaust fumes of the passing cars, i slam the door and run to see you again. as if i hadn’t seen you yesterday.
your kiss reeks of aftershave, just like i want it to. you know. that’s why you drench yourself in it. for me.
and i hold your hand in mine. your skin has tanned over the summer. mine hasn’t. not with this rain. and we are no longer the same shade.
and do you remember how amazed you were at the way the pigments of your skin mirrored those of mine? when the tan washes away, the skin on our hands will be the same colour again. that on our bodies still is.
and i look at your nails. it’s merely an impulse. yes, they are imperfect but you no longer bite them. i put a stop to that.
something about them reminds me of almonds.
we walked the streets and read the paper. daily telegraph. in the library where we had our first kiss. friday the fifth of february. twenty-nine fridays ago.
obesity's pushing NHS over the edge.
tiger woods' ex wife got his millions.
the "mistresses" was not a hit for all.
the headlines were predictable, but with you by my side i oohhed and aahhed.
with you the world’s a different place.
but i’ve come back home now and there’s so much to do, so little time.
Posted in chapters of my life
Tagged aahh, about, aftershave, again, ago, almonds, always, amazed, away, back, be, bite, bodies, cars, colour, come, continuity, daily, different, do, door, drench, edge, else, exhaust, february, feel, fifth, first, for, friday, fridays, fumes, gold, had, hand, hands, hasn't, headlines, helpless, home, house, how, imperfect, impulse, it, just, kiss, library, little, live, longer, look, me, millions, mine, mirrored, mistresses, much, must, nails, nhs, now, obesity, oohh, out, over, paper, passing, pigments, place, predictable, pushing, rain, read, reek, remember, reminds, run, same, see, sense, shade, side, skin, slam, so, something, still, stop, streets, summer, take, tan, tanned, telegraph, that, them, there, those, tiger, time, to, twenty-nine, walk, want, washes, way, we, were, what, when, why, wife, with, woods, world, writing, yesterday, yet, you, yourself
How quietly loves pass you by,
Their names – moonless nights
killing postcoital glow.
/
/
How gravely love moulds to hate
or apathy,
mixing into the summer air,
You,
uttering their names,
holding onto that fire
/
Driving fast,
somewhere past
a streetcar named desire,
Burning through memories
Ash scattering ash
/
And
every
spark
hits
the
pavement
like
a
stone
/
You stop to breathe.
You’re not alone.
/
You know I’m here
And this is home.
Posted in excerpts
Tagged air, alone, apathy, ash, breathe, burn, by, desire, drive, every, fast, fire, glow, gravely, hate, here, hit, hold, home, how, is, kill, know, like, love, loves, memories, mix, moon, moulds, name, named, names, night, not, onto, pass, pavement, poems, poetry, postcoital, quietly, scatter, spark, stone, stop, streetcar, summer, their, this, through, to, us, utter, you
glittering soot on her eyelashes 