Saturday, 21 June 2014

Poem: Definitions

To miss you   
is to miss the words   
blooming on your stuttering tongue,
filling the space between us.
Words are our emissaries, giving
sight and sense of touch, drawing you
to such proximity
that I could smell
the scent of summer on your nape,
on your skin.

To hold you
is to be fulfilled, as satisfied as one
enjoying a plate of food
after a long spell of hunger, only that,
I don't devour you, no, I take pleasure
in the bareness
of everything you stand for
in contrast to myself.

What we do
is merge together, witnesses to light and darkness
making love in the starlit sky,
likewise witnessed. As such,
I put one, two fingers into your waiting
palm, and think, There is no other
place I'd rather be
than here.

Wednesday, 11 June 2014

Poem: The life cycle of a lyric

It begins, as all things do, within
a darkened room permeated with untamed,
uncivilized feelings—being too full
and too sweet, unrelenting, unforgiving, begging
for release.

She will stir amid the troubled sheets,
and grant it entrance to herself, warm and once
too young, a whole new world
to be stripped of wide-eyed

Time will pass to see it
born: crumpled and dark and raw. Rude
unbidden tears will spring from it, wailing, wild
as the night, as the heart
that had borne it.

The process of refining then begins,
the pain of taking away parts and pieces,
the wild words stifled, the crudeness checked
by judgement, the child reprimanded, sped on
to maturation.

The lyric finds itself in the dim, dusty light
of a teenaged boy’s bedroom, there to be
unburdened of its eloquence, released—its soul
to be perused. Wailing, wild, yielding, moaning,

Desiring—its undoing, the lyric fades
into vague memory: ink on paper weeping,
paper swept beneath the bed to tell its tale
to dust, static, one day to turn
to dust itself.

But maybe one day, you will recall the specter
of a smile and snatches of lovelorn words
knocking on chambers of a forgetful heart—
spark to memories, light to candles

on the lyric’s grave.