they have cosy corners, just like you.
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september 22
end game
the end of the kisses, spitting cinders
overturned sofas
dance of feathers
undone,
severed and shaved
as the straw
from the scarecrow.
september 21
heads full of homework,
a makeshift skyline
of yet-to-be
paints itself across the dark,
as young love
rings it’s soon-forgotten bell
A Convenient Marriage – Lois E. Linkens
my latest poem for sudden denouement:
we sleep in separate beds,
to clear our clouded heads.
we keep our secrets wrapped
in gaudy signatures and glasses cracked
over organ flourishes.
we have rooms upon rooms,
some shortage of love
made up in statement wallpaper and bespoke furniture.
the sweeping staircase
holds centre place,
a marble decoy
feels as cold as the flesh
behind the welcome and the wine;
we keep our hands apart,
modern art
stands for wedding photos developed unseen,
money sadly spent
on a white pretence
that fill so many baby dreams;
tradition screams.
mais oui,
it seems that playground jests
have found their poorest manifest
in our little life of theatre.
mama, he thinks our homespun play
is swallowed like tequila,
he believes the empty nursery unnoticed,
sitting in his claw-foot bathtub
with a beard of bubbles,
oblivious to the pool of mockery
in which he is submerged;
mama, it would not take…
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Pluto
she was something of Saturn. gaseous, you might laugh, but what human isn’t?
no, she was Saturn – one body encased by a ring, or in her case, many rings from many suitors, many futures.
but it came, as the sad things do, that she died a Pluto.
september 12
how i wish i could give you all of me, but a fickle heart can reek an Exodusian plague across the deserts of one’s life. it seems i was not heavily armed enough to fight against that which has already come; as the first born found their final fate under the cover of diseased darkness, so first love is born to die, beneath a buzzing swarm of doubt.
september 11
i could have had her in the rain; when all attempts to burn and paint herself to perfection were soiled, she was left with only her words to charm me with. and some might say, the dance of a woman undressed is far purer than one all decked up.
september 9
the city glitters after dark, busy busy night-owls shuffle and scuffle in their white glass nests. and we are watching, tired eyes and heavy bags on a faraway train.
unheard incantations: a collaborative poem
The words we cannot say
Will be wept
Into silence between us (CER)
Breathe deep, dear love;
Be still with me
Listen to my heartstrings
A song meant just for you (KMA)
Each tear
An eloquent elegy
To tortured truths (AP)
Each note played
On a hand carved lute
Strung with strips
Of my soul (JWL)
Your breathless aura
Beats in time
Undulating ululation
With my exhaled psyche (AP)
Intertwined, tangled,
Unified: whole
Healed. (JWL)
Yet with hearts torn open
Bleeding out the notes of our song
You turned from me (ME)
I am fire
Drowning
In desire
Weep
I beg
Save me (1W-W)
Fetch me an instrument,
For the untrained ear
Is soothed by that
Which it cannot comprehend. (LEL)
Not everything is black and white.
For even the eclipsed moon
Is not without a little light. (SD)
Whispers through the distance
I remember
As you reach for my hand
my heart (CER)
Our words
Still
Bleeding
Drip like fire
Into embers
Wanting back
Their flame. (SFF)
The words we cannot say
Will be wept
Into silence between us (CER)
Written by:
Cat Nap
my recent collaboration on Sudden Denouement with the lovely Christine Ray
by Lois Linkens and Christine Ray
sleep stalks me, finds me an easy target
slinks in to drag me under, into the depths
where unknown dangers lurk in my unconscious
what murkiness lies behind my drooping lashes,
what shadows hide between each whistling breath?
what sharpness snuggles buried
among the feathers in my pillow,
what traps will soon ensnare
and dangle me, just feet from death?
they hook me, by the ankle
and suspend me from the tree of dreams,
around which serpents rattle, tigers prowl,
insects scuttle, poisonous, foul.
blood rushing to my head
cheeks flushed
heart thundering
as i dangle helpless
great cats bat their armored paws
at my flailing hair
like beggars round a campfire.
their claws pull and snag –
draw drops of blood
that quench night blooming jasmine
waiting below
i wake with a start. temples throb and pulse,
the bed is dry as…
View original post 110 more words
