i’m changing tides,
a river bursting seams;
i’m not afraid of standing still
if i’m the only one not moving.
i douse myself in you, my skin alight
with million dazzling shades of white
and nothing matters: time is swaying here.
i pause my beat for night on night:
we know morality is all there is to care for–
–and then you say mistakes can sparkle in the sun,
i need to run and leave you in my place:
a human obelisk.
Posted in excerpts
Tagged burstings, dazzling, human, mistakes, night, obelisk, poems, poetry, river, seams, skin, sparkle, white, you
no response. my heart is the silence of the world sleeping.
i barely wrote about him: he never seemed to matter. you are my prince, patience incarnate. often all i need is that little piece of silent tenderness: i am simple but i change with the northerly wind.
all i seem to do is read and sleep: summer brings deep slumber to my senses and burning sun only makes itself felt on the nape of your neck. when my eyes see it, the gently tanned skin colour of sandalwood, an urge from deep within me wants to cradle it with the palms of my hands, feel its warmth as if through it i shall hold a ray of sunshine, all warm and sensual, taken from a book of mild erotica.
funny how when i felt it last, rejection felt like a consuming fire in every which one of my pores. now, it is a slight breeze tangling up my hair, soft sand in my eyes, thorny roses brushing against a scab: strangely seperate from me.
you think i can’t see the pain in your eyes. true, you hide it well, but i know you and i know that i told you that he mattered in more ways than one would care to. i’m sorry.
S is nothing; i am love.
it’s about aesthetics, feeling, about loving contour and form and not it straight lines … and i got too attached to you, S. funny that, i try to live without feeling.
no response. so we learn to fly.
Posted in chapters of my life
Tagged about, aethetics, against, all, are, attached, barely, book, breeze, brings, brushing, burning, but, can't, care, change, colour, consuming, contour, cradle, deep, erotica, every, eyes, feel, feeling, felt, fire, fly, form, from, funny, gently, got, hair, hands, heart, hide, him, hold, how, incarnate, it, itself, know, last, learn, like, lines, little, live, love, loving, makes, matter, me, mild, more, my, nape, neck, need, never, no, northerly, not, nothing, now, of, often, one, only, pain, palms, patience, piece, pores, prince, prose, ray, read, rejection, response, roses, s, sand, sandalwood, scab, see, seem, seemed, sense, sensual, seperate, shall, silence, silent, simple, skin, sleep, sleeping, slight, slumber, soft, sorry, straight, strangely, summer, sun, sunshine, taken, tangling, tanned, tenderness, that, think, thorny, through, to, told, too, true, try, urge, wants, warm, warmth, ways, we, well, were, when, which, wind, with, within, without, world, would, wrote, you, your
through my paperround last year i met a wonderful man. he used to walk his dog as i’d deliver papers and we started talking around the time i started writing this blog. i think he’s 82: he must have mentioned it a while back. and i’m afraid there’s nothing literary about him: his existence is one of uncouth coutesy.
i quit the paperround a while back now but i still see him every sunday. nine o’clock in the morning, like church. he’s my little christian connection: even S is nowhere near taking his place. he gave me a bible with a picture of him in his youth stuck at the back, so that i remember him. secretly, i think, he believes that it will help me find him in heaven: he believes i will go there after all.
to my friends, this man is “the old man”. to me, he is much more than that. it may be true that i meet him every sunday partly because i feel like it’s my obligation, but also because somewhere beneath my skin there’s a tendon that connects me to him.
his wife died last night. or the night before that. and there’s no more words because i’m hurting for him. because how can one even begin to describe his pain?
i had made them a card only this march: they celebrated their 60th wedding annivesary.
sometimes he told me he wondered if she ever loved him but i know that was only because he loved her more than anything else. ever.
and it’s a little late for him to tell her, but i hope she knew. i think she knew.
Posted in chapters of my life
Tagged about, afraid, after, all, also, anniversar, anything, around, back, because, before, believes, beneath, bereavement, bible, blog, but, can, card, celebrated, christian, church, connection, connects, courtesy, death, deliver, describe, died, dog, else, even, ever, every, existence, feel, find, for, friends, gave, go, have, he, heaven, help, her, him, his, hope, how, hurting, knew, know, last, late, like, literary, little, loved, made, man, march, may, me, meet, mentioned, met, more, morning, much, mush, my, near, night, nine, nothing, now, nowhere, o'clock, obligation, of, old, one, only, pain, paperround, papers, partly, picture, place, quit, remember, s, sadness, secretly, see, she, skin, sometimes, somewhere, started, stuck, sunday, taking, talking, tell, tendon, than, that, their, there, there's, they, think, this, through, time, to, told, true, uncouth, used, walk, was, we, wedding, while, wife, will, with, wondered, wonderful, words, writing, year, youth
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
we’ll stop tonight
where lights carry a trace of us
and moon shines loftily on bare skin
if only to say goodbye
we’ll lay in the long grass
just like you wanted
no questions asked
no answers given
and put the cork into the essence of us
it may still feel unfinished somehow
in the sunshine of your blackest sun,
maybe then, under the searching light,
i’ll stop hearing your goodbyes
you’re listening for my hellos
a year too late
and there are moments in our lives that lay imprinted behind our eyelids, fluttering with every heartbeat, waiting to escape.
this is one.
of stars was another.
different people. different lives.
circles never end.
Posted in excerpts
Tagged another, answers, ask, athough, bare, behind, black, blackest, but, carry, cicles, cork, different, end, escape, essense, every, eyelids, feel, flutter, given, goodbye, goodbyes, grass, hear, heartbeat, hellos, if, imprinted, just, know, knowing, late, lay, light, lights, like, listening, lives, loftily, long, may, moments, moon, never, no, of stars, one, only, paling, people, poem, poems, poetry, put, questions, raw, say, searching, shine, skin, somewhow, still, stop, sun, sunshine, then, this, tonight, too, trace, under, unfinished, us, wait, want, was, we, where, year, you