poetry collection II: old wounds
archive of my poetry, July-November 2022
old wounds - 24th July 2022
with the passing of each new moon
life begins to taste of honeydew
like twisting tongues
like tranquil dusk
it tastes of forgetting you
snowdrops wilt under
the lavender lustre
of the starry eyes of god
settling stardust over sleepy scenes
melting sweet wheatfield landscapes
into each fresh burnt coffee pot
smacking of stars buried
sweet silence, blue broken by you
at nine again, you pierce anew
the soft fabric of my flower bed
as the railroad lines cut city lights
and each twenty fourth cuts me through
wrench apart my heartstrings
strum them, ringing in my ears
old wounds salt soaked and vision blurred
when frantic phone static is all i find
a heartbeat that listens not
to a sound and steady mind
to precarious awareness
of perpetual estrangement
no, my body has different designs
it grieves estrangement from warm hands
to lead me through cold castle ruins
it seeks the piece of my soul left behind
in candlelit whispers that echo my mind
in star-crossed scenes under valentine starlight
in bluebell bare woods and tree carving knives
to bury in my heart with, to tear it apart with
from the inside; out of the woods
at least it's with you i die
buying another second of time
before your hands close around my neck
darling, hold me close, in amorous suffocation
until i can no longer find your meaning
lost in your endless blank words
all is lost after the first avowal of your lips to mine
the first and singular lightning strike untouched and divine
the holy bible has no new pages to turn
only the broken record of my heartbeat is left to
skip, skip, skip and rewind in my mind's eye
trace the lines of your face
cut the old wound open
one last time
for good this time,
to help me sleep under the lavender moon
is the final star left out at two
dances me around my room like you used to do
runs me down the lane to a forgotten place
determined to find my way out
of this dark, dark maze; your stifling haze
even if i burn my hands each morning
brewing your bitter coffee pot
i'll drain out the clogged mass of memories
to purge you from my soul
into the porcelain bowl
regurgitate your pretty face
until there's nothing left
tasting thick dark molasses
i savour the taste of bitter bloodshot regret
though my mind is clear, smooth honey
my body will not forget.
am Gardasee - 6th October 2022
Cut through clear waters, knife of paradise
show me sea green glass glinting in his eyes
their sultry seafoam murmurs
a windswept, sailboat dream-
there sleep's sweet honey drips from my lips
i'm bathed in bright moonbeam
set sail to sleep, to wake up serene
to morning rain and blank white sheets.
Breathe in the slopes and climbs of mountainside
where limbs interlock and lives intertwine
at the bell tower's everlasting crest
I let the water's edge caress my breast
with his rough hands, dolce vita marine
amidst the olive groves and beach palm trees
that leave scrawled pages sun-faded
as the moments curve with the roads
and melt in the heat to memory
flowing with rolling waves that wash the blood
from mountain ridges like
each jagged stone that cuts my feet.
Left blissfully adrift on the summer breeze
composing poetry am Gardasee
no lingering dull ache for you
mouth only dry for summer wine
soft gelato in the square at two
stretching endless lengths of time
reflecting in peaches and lakeside sunrise
no longer recalling the shades of your eyes
no longer wondering if you can see
my honeyed lips, the scrapes on my knees?
ich liebe dich, trotzdem
feeling clarity in
a strange cyclical return
the rise and fall of his chest
his hand on my neck
as he traces my tan lines before they fade
traces the curves my body makes
as i let him slip past, the dish soap slides
too late now for sunset swimming at nine
so i light my September sage, keep him half-alive
waiting out the endless days
beyond the train platform's sun soaked haze.
No time left now for introspection
no more pools for endless reflection
so I let the the lady of the lake
pick me up, and sweep me away.
ode to friendship - 16th November 2022
you tell me you trust in the universe
how could you not,
when it brought me to you?
like the nimble ballerina,
navigating November
on a conversational tightrope thread
karmic balance fusing
bitter, sweet and in between
peeling scorpion skin
revealing you to me
letting stardust float
in the evening home
safely, soundly and asleep
somehow quiet, yet cataclysmic
a paper snowflake storm
through which your footprints lead me
all trepidation but no hesitation
when the time comes
it is you, for me
tarantella - 24th November 2022
en pointe until the very end
your ankle twists and bends
breaks and gives, all of you that’s left
body and soul in synchronous collapse
with you, the curtain falls
to thunderous applause
sleeping soundly, counting, knowing
starlit eyes are watching you
the morning mannequin and mirror
will lead you safely through
to where my image briefly interposes
pearl strings, red ribbons and white lace
each saccharine silk slip dress
helps honey bruise’s bitter taste
you leave bedside and behind
my heart-shaped necklace, yet unscrewed
tabletop rosary, waiting patiently
waiting just for you
ask me, who am i to think?
i see your hopes, fears, and desires
entangled deeply in dark roots
struck ablaze with so many fires
impossible to quench, for now,
so float aloft, let him dance you
around the room, like some doll, infantile
let him hold your angel face, rosy cheeked
trip through this clumsy, well-intended maze
you join him in the dance of pretending
believing, that the stains are worn away
as his fingers trip over your mascara tears
i ask you, would he cry with rage to hold
blonde curls wrapped around your ears?
behind the blonde and wrong facade lurks yet
the glass shard’s glimmer from the kitchen floor
to his eyes and throat, through cheek to tongue
to spatter with blood something shattered, accidental
is to feel alive for the first time
to smoke starlight cigarettes
and dance while truly, no one watches
to run until your lungs give out
cease your tarantella, flood with warm relief
to find she sees you through
she’ll electrify your mind and soul
and tear each page anew
to leave the woods sixteen, one final time
and stumble out beyond the trees
alone and blind, until you see