Sunday, October 14, 2012

The Bay Bridge

You Run your toung
Like my engine through midnight traffic
Reckless lines of red break lights
Vein into the city
And I want to whisper
'You're pulling at my heart strings'
The Soft breath of desire whips past your ears
Whipping now my hair through the open window
Round and round we go
Picking at the scab
Til fresh blood bubbles up
And I can yell at you again
Because you are low
And yet so perfect
Why do I live for the vibration of the engine?
And the red flashing light
Where is the action
Where is the commitment
I am alone in the moaning wind


Pretty Bird, pretty bird
He loves Pretty Bird
Pretty Bird flies
And Pretty Bird glides-Why?
Why does Pretty Bird fly?
Because of the look in Pretty Boy's eyes
She flies?-How?
How does Pretty Bird fly?
He blows wind beneath Pretty Bird
He wants to see you fly Pretty Bird
Pretty Bird, Pretty Bird
Such a child Pretty Bird
So innocent, Pretty Bird
Be more innocent Pretty Bird
Pretty Boy likes innocent Pretty Bird
He sighs, Pretty Bird
Pretty Bird, pretty bird
He shot Pretty Bird
See him lie Pretty Bird
And she cries, poor bird
and she dies,
pretty bird.

The fighter

Fire, fire, fire
Like rage, like nothing
The fixating sound
of the crimson
Pumping, pounding
In empty ears
Blood like fire
Fire like what?
Rage like nothing
Like the ripped sea crashing
Pumping, pounding
Shattering hearts
Ground fine like sand
Retreating down
Vermilion running
Feet with wings
Pumping, pounding
on dark wet pavement
Steam like a kettle
Fighting words
Gliding, swaying, ducking
With no defining consequence
Iron hot cadence
Drools off restless lips
Painting violence
On this silence.
Fists pumping pounding
With blood like fire
Fire, fire, fire
Rage like what?
Fire like nothing.

Walking Away

Close the book
Turn the page
Give one last look
Let go the rage
Take a cleansing deep breath
Pretend he apologized
Know it's for the best
For no more lies
Erase the writing
Forget the fighting
Just walk away
Time to turn around
My heel grinds in time
On the concrete ground
He picked the flower
But I kept my power
And as the rain falls faster
I smile and start a new chapter
Knee deep in tribid water
To realize I am the one whose fighting back
Our lives, like pictures in sand
Destroyed and faded by the wind
Our bodies blown over the earth, like
Dust on water
Eventually to sink in
The collective ocean of 'us'
consciousness with no control
That crashed violently against my toes
Immovable rocks ground one day soft to sand
Like we all grow soft in our old age
Chillingly numb from it's cold
But what is peace if not an ocean?
Breathing life
Softening the impenetrable
And carrying wind so strong
That will one day fade our sand
And blow us all away

Lets Burn

Lets burn
I want to smulder
in a pile of you and me
I want to move
Like we invented moving
Flicker and spark
Like heat is all there is
I want to moan
Like we're committing original sin
Like we thought of this
Like its ours, it is ours
I want you to pull yourself in
I want it cosmic
Bliss and make bliss
Like we can't see
Because in this moment you are perfect
My hips were made to hold
Your hips
Springs creak
So you, so me
Lets move
Lets sweat
Lets burn
Bump up against and bob like a fish
Gasping for breath at unfinished business
Lose Ends never tied
cups poured out
Sin and Sorrow
And that great ugly drought
Letters unsent
An alphabet unlearned
and a disease never cured
Failed attempts at irony
Words that were never meant
When things come so suddenly
Potential is not met
With just one thing
I will never forget

to dust

Stalk still
White fabric, you too
Lay there butcher-style
Blue and gold silk
And the blanket your grandmother
Wove, you into my life
The tread of you ripped from me-fray
Crumble of over face
Your hair, but not your eyes
And down, my melting blues
When I grasp an other mourner's hand
At the sight of the rigamortis
Your 'you-like hand'
Is all that holds focus

Tuesday, February 28, 2012

My Zombie poem...way out of left field but here it is

Within the world of Maryfairing, lived a light of eternal caring. 
But when that light went dim one day, all this world would see decay.
From fourth the country came a noise that shattered and tattered the New Years joys.
They came on hobbling like puppets on strings, ramped and hungry for human things
Their eyes were white and their hands were cold, and, oh, their flesh reeked of boggy mould.
Their bare feet squished through filth and mud, as their bellies moaned for human blood
Within the city the people cried, “Such a crime! Such a crime! We’ve nowhere to hide.”
As the undead approached with their lifeless eyes, some ran, some screamed, some sought disguise.
The minister, old, he laid in bed, until a ringing came from a phone which said:
“They’re monsters, o dear! After our children, we fear! For our lives may end, the solution is unclear!”
“Relax” Spoke the minister, whose smile was quite sinister.  “Send the guards quick.  Sir, are we quite finished here?”
With that the minister rolled over to his wife, who was blond and beautiful of only 16 years of life.
“Again they weep for hand outs my dear, let the poor be eaten...we’re safe up here”
He leaned in close and kissed her head, but she was still, so still, she could have been dead!
The old minister’s heart fluttered “my darling? Are you well?  Should I call for your mother?”
Her eyes flue open, as pale as the sheets, her body was stiff as she stood on her feet.
The minister, afraid as she reached out for him, and each limb from another, she savagely tore him.
The blood stained the carpet worth a quarter million euro, which he’d bought with a loan from the pension baeuro.
Dead was the minister, with blood filled lung, when as through from a jack-in-the-box his body was sprung.
Then husband and wife limped down to the street, insatiably hungry for human meat.
In the streets people ran as shots were fired, knowing now the minster was a great dead liar.
As guards and ghost all one became, only a few stood alive their country to reclaim.
Faint children dragged their own lifeless feet, shots rang out to cause their defeat.
The live rebels they ran from safe hold to safe hold, all the while watching their families grow cold.
One rebel looked his sister in the eyes, as they glazed over and met her undead demise.

Tuesday, January 17, 2012


((excerpt from my fiction novel about the after life))

 Tom reached out his hand to push the large wooden door, the light increased followed by a flood of the most lovely warmth.  “It’s rather busy tonight? Isn’t it?” Eira remarked.  “There must have been a match” Tom said gesturing to a group of men in a combination of dark and light blue.  Eira smiled “of course”.  The pub opened up before them; a mixture or warm dim light and dark earthy wood.  The bras of the chair legs reflected on their faces and gave the stacked pint glasses and eerie shine from behind the bar.  The plank wood floor creaked quietly as they walked.  He offered her his arm as they mounted the stair case and climbed to the second floor.  As Eira reached the top of the first staircase she glanced in the grand mirror.  It had been ages since she had been in this place, but the mirror still looked as it had always been, it’s intricately patterned frame sweeping gracefully round; a pool of images swimming in a brass box.  She stood admiring the mirror when in the reflection she thought she saw...but she couldn’t have.  How tired she was and how her eyes plaid tricks.  She furrowed her brow.  “Are you alright, dear?” Tom pried “are you?” she laughed.  The circumstances were odd “just get me that drink” she continued.  They came to the second floor and walked to first room.  “Our normal table seems to be occupied” Eira said with the raise of her eye brows at the group of rather rowdy men, celebrating soberlessly.  Eira sat down at a table across from their usual and flattened her skirt against her knees. ‘Pint?’ Tom asked ‘yes that’s fine’ she smiled and Tom kissed her on the cheek before heading to the bar.  Away from Eira he allowed his anxiety prevail.  He couldn’t begin to fathom what had happened, how he got here or why.  He closed his eyes tightly trying to remember something, anything of how he ended up in this place, but it was all blank, all dark, with no reasonable explanation. “You alright there?” Tom opened his eyes to find himself face to face with the stout and greying bar man.  Tom dropped his mouth a bit, the man looked very familiar “yes, I’m fine” he finally blurted though his brain still churned wildly. “Can I get you anything?” the bar man continued, he too was confused, not by Toms look but rather his behaviour.  “Lager and a cider” he sputtered examining the bar mans kind blue eyes, his wispy comb-over and his deep wrinkles, “pint or bottle?” “pint” Tom replied thoughtfully “are you sure you haven’t had enough there?” The barman smiled at him “Not a one” said Tom now with a breathless smile.  He felt his heart pound like 16-year-old trying to buy cigarettes and yet still, this interaction was all so very mundane.  The barman raised his eyebrows and walked away to get Tom’s drinks.  Tom leaned with his back to the bar.  Pursing his lips he surveyed the room, it was all familiar but a strange feeling persisted inside his frame, it was all “Good man” came the voice behind him, he turned back to the bar to take his drinks from the man “keep the change” he muttered as he handed over the a tenner “but it’s only 6 euros 50?” said the barman “how?” said Tom, the bar man tilted his head at the question then got him his change. Tom wondered hastedely back to Eira.  He placed the drinks on the table and sat down.  “You alright, love?  You look like you’ve just seen a ghost.” “sure, I am now” He paused and rested his elbows on the table in front of him “it’s simply” he paused again, searching for the words to express his confusion and apprehension “simply what?” Eira pried “you know these drinks were only 6.50?” he blurted out.  Eira thought confused, attempting to read his face “yes, and?” she said “it’s very cheap don’t you think?” she looked at him for a moment, then a thought jumped into her head “well sure it’s Wednesday, they do a promotion on Wednesday; 3.25 a drink or something.  Don’t you remember that, sure has it been that long since we’ve had a night out” she smiled at Tom “poor man” she said “we’re workin’ ya...” “sure I remember the promotion” he interrupted “and sure I remember they haven’t had that promotion in nearly 10 years” his eyes were pressed and his face serious.  Eira sighed with a calm smile “well, they must have...reinstated it” Tom leaned back in his chair and took a long pull at his drink.  His eyes wondered out the window steeped in gold holiday lights, it was cold and raining like mad. “But doesn’t this feel weird to you?” he returned his serious demeanour back to her “strange, out of de ja vou” “...we’ve been here a million time befo...” “not like this, this feels wrong, do you even remember how we got here, because I don’t!” Eira looked away too roll her eyes “ok, Tom would you stop it, you’re starting to...”out of the corner of her eye she saw it again, so this time she looked harder.  In the mirror in front of her was the image of a young woman, with dark hair and a large smile, she sat cross legged at the table on the opposite side of the bar “...upset...” she continued distractedly, and as she said the word the woman tucked her hair behind her ear revealing her face in focus “” Eira said breathlessly, every hair on her neck was on end and a chill crawled up her spine, clinging around her neck “oh, my god” she said “ can’t be.” She moved her saturated blue eyes to meet Toms “what? What is it?” Tom’s heart leapt with worry “Tell me I’m dreaming” she whispered “or is that the girl you fell in love with 15 years ago?” She moved her eyes back to the girls slender frame and glowing face, Tom’s eyes followed hers “...tis” he replied, “I think it is”