Poetry

The cake is damp

It’s how you have to contort your mouth when you say it

chew it up like tough leftovers

with that same shine of distaste in your eyes.

It’s just a word

but oh, how you use every synonym you can think of

just to avoid it.

Sadly, good cake

is nothing if it’s not this.

Poetry

The words of magic

The words of magic

can be seen in lines of searching ants,

in the spiral of a snail’s shell,

in the veins of a leaf.

 

The words of magic

can be spoken in verse,

yawned into a pillow,

humoured in the bath.

 

The words of magic

can be expressed through dance,

placed in heavy footsteps,

sounded in a run.

 

The words of magic

can live on our skin,

reside in our blood,

beat with our heart.

 

The words of magic

are never far away.

Check over your shoulder

and greet them with a smile

on the play of the wind.

 

Poetry

To you. The one in my head, always.

Who I’ve conversed with

in one way or another

since the day our platonic love,

our friendship,

our wall-breaking

started.

 

Now, we are a couple.

Yes.

We. Are. A. Couple.

We had no barriers before.

We have no locks now.

 

I literally gave you a key,

because the idea of you coming to me

and finding the door

shut

is disturbing and painful

for us both.

 

You once asked me

how I would feel if we didn’t talk for a day.

I answered that I tried it,

and you sent me a message

just as I broke and began composing my own.

 

I just don’t think we can do it.

I don’t want to do it.

Your words, your voice…

they’re oxygen.

 

And I’m still wearing your hoodie.

 

Poetry

My forehead is covered in stars

And they cover my eyes sometimes

so all I can see is the brightness they give off,

twinkling like polished, princess cut gems

only seen on T.V.

Before, my forehead

was perpetually covered in rain clouds,

black fluff that wouldn’t budge

no matter how many times I scrubbed my face raw.

Then I became friends with someone whose hair was covered

in gleeful fire demons,

his grin as swamping as theirs

but overjoyed, not menacing.

We talked. We rambled. We talked. We rambled.

And the fire demons latched onto my own hair

as finally we kissed,

running across my brow

to settle in their original forms,

usually only seen in the night sky.

Poetry

Earthquake

A thousand conversations in my ears,

snatches of words, flashes of colour

and the whole ground shaking.

 

My ground

is turning, thrown up and down

with no chance to recover

before the world is split in two

and my heartbeat

is both silent and rampant.

 

Unable to process what’s going on,

detachment takes hold

 

forcing breath into my lungs

and oxygen to my head.

 

I look up and see the sky.

Calm, blue and trimmed

with a neat green beard.

 

Ice flows forward to crash

against my ankles,

bringing with it the lull of evening.

 

The voices, now tired, begin to settle.

even as the roar continues.

 

Eventually

they take the leap and merge

with the shadows. Dark.

Tied with the night.

Poetry

Lazy Afternoon Rambles

As the week comes to a close

and our schedules open up

to be the holes that form notes

in a music box’s song,

 

I hold out my hand

so we can touch palm to palm.

 

It would be a waste

if we didn’t use this time to spark

 

off each other, mind to mind,

whether it takes a stroll in the mist

or an afternoon melting into the sofa

 

with words tumbling over each other

from the waterfalls that we call lips.

 

Stand with me, my friend,

and let us be.

Poetry

Words that Stay

How often do you think about the words you use?

Do you say certain words because you like the clarity, the directness

of the ideas they present?

How about the way they roll off your tongue,

or force your mouth to contort

into wild shapes you hope will never be caught

in a photograph?

Do you like words that sound heavy

or soft?

Words that bring in other cultures,

nationalities, tastes, smells,

summer days

and the moments after rain?

Words that hurt more than a blow to the face

or words that comfort

just as much as a friend’s embrace?

How often do you think of the words that are origins of words,

 

The ocean of language

is never still,

it swirls and eddies

just as much as the world

that gives them life.

Poetry, Uncategorized

Peanuts

I challenge you to a game of peanuts,

palm to palm we start, fingers locked

and who will twist, who will bend,

who will break first?

 

I challenge you to a game of chess,

mind to mind we sit, fingers twitching

and who will lead, who will block,

who will fall first?

 

I challenge you to a game of codes,

eye to eye we stand, fingers drumming,

and who will seek, who will find,

who will crack first?

 

I challenge you to a game of words,

toe to toe we begin, fingers pointing,

and who will blabber, who will stumble,

who will cry out first?