the cherry blossoms are out
but half its people
are not here to see them
since the first justification
of saving lives, we have done nothing but lose
ourselves to blind hunger for
a precarious safety
built on the cancerous cremations
of human, hawk, herring
each uranium tear a blistering
of heart of earth, of relation
tell me how to come back
to where the sakura blooms
Written 14 March 2011
Published in The Writers Block Magazine (Issue 8)
Posted in Poetry
one by one, yellow balloons are
lost and let go of
nodding and bobbing and side-
stepping in a slow
skyward dance
their white strings caress the
outlines
of cedar
below this aerial choreography
two girls swing dance to the trembling beats
of hannah georgas crooning
over the sun-soaked crowd
and a smaller one is spun around
in airy circles
defying the call of earth
as long as her mother holds on
I dropped my heart here, somewhere
between landing past clean moving sea and
looking up at blue mountain iced-cake tops
years ago, now
and have not yet found
where to retrieve it
it is my last summer here, for a while
(because I do not admit, even to
myself, that change
happens and it might not be
just a while);
the coming loss persists in thought,
reminds me moment by moment
how it all moves away through me
past my ghostly grasping
so I ravel these nows into lines
strategically stored in memory for later
when I may need to follow the thread
that lifts my spirit from a lonely place
to the yellow balloon floating so high
it is now simply another whisper of cloud
Posted in Poetry
pebbles pressing against each rib
defiantly defining itself underneath the dress
she won’t remove because she thinks
she has wobbly bits
her food disappears from her plate
but they don’t go in her
they don’t sustain her
just the sewers
I can’t convince her of ‘enough’
when you’ve limited her concept of beauty
and she doesn’t see that was who she was
before you came along and said otherwise
Posted in Poetry
i.
you can think of it as cops & robbers
where he’s the bad guy
& you’re dialling nine-one-one but
the cops aren’t answering
and this is how you know
that this is not a game
ii.
when you are old enough to come back
to these evenings
shut away in the base of your bones
and unfold layers of twisted memories
remember to be kind
to yourself
too young to know the rules you played by
were set by someone commandeering an entirely different game
of violation
that was not fun
no matter what he said
otherwise
iii.
remember that the stars
have their black scars too
yet they shine so brightly
we still see their light
light-years after they are gone
and you will yet love the world like the sun
Posted in Poetry
for a friend
I am tired
of hearing you’re not good enough
for me. I’ve heard it
once too many times before.
I was not the one
who said it. But if you insist
on discounting my feelings
and on always being right,
then yes,
you are not good enough.
You are not
good enough for not even trying
to be there for me
despite the doors I threw open for you
before you knew to knock on them,
for being so paralysed by your visions of failure
we never had a chance to begin,
for letting me walk the tightrope
across the canyon of the unknown
alone, with no hand to hold.
We have so little time on earth,
my boy. My ears have heard
the words you are just once
too many times before — I have no space
in life for your endless uncertainties,
of my not being good enough for you
to risk falling for
even when I have been falling
for you
every day we’ve known
each other.
I am tired
of listening to the words you say
and feeling the things you don’t do;
I can’t stay any longer
waiting on you when I need to walk
where arms are warmer. I can live
with not looking back, but is this the end
the one that’s good enough for you?
Posted in Poetry
I love you
I want to tell you how much I love you
I want to slip my fingers through your own
and press your hand against my lips
I want to take you along the beach
and dance with you amongst the sands
singing low enough so only you can hear
the tune we sway to with your hand upon my waist
I want to curl up beside you on a sofa
and breathe in your silence
as we turn the pages of a book we share
then fall asleep in the crook of your arm
I want to hang onto your arm
under the shelter of a large umbrella
as we splash our way home
and dart a kiss at every lamppost
I want to pour over recipes with you
taste the concoctions of our experiments
then blow bubbles over dishes I wash and you dry
capturing the picture of an everyday
I want to spill out the secrets of my soul
through spoken and written words
and have you ask and listen and understand
and share your inmost self with me too
I want you to hold on and not walk away
even when we are having our worst days
I want to run into your open arms
every time you come home
be lifted up and swung around
set down and have you whisper
how you love me too
Posted in Poetry
