Poetry, Uncategorized

Rooted escape

beads in my pocket, enchanted

as I steal away from the shouting, the swearing

down the road and into

the roots of the tower

that seals shut behind me

none of their spits follow me, nor

the scent of beer and sweat and piss and vomit

that has come to haunt

my waking hours

Poetry

Let down your hair

The tower I am trapped in

is hidden in the darkest of recesses.

There are no ropes for me to let down,

no long locks of hair for me to weave.

If I jump, I will plummet.

 

I have been shorn, stripped of all that I am.

 

The world has gone silent.

The world has gone dark.

 

But then a pulse

beats through the stone walls.

Vibrant as morning light sparkling on the sea’s spray.

 

I hear it.

Accompanied by a scent I cannot describe,

but akin to that

of spring to a flower.

 

The darkness smothering me

begins to recede.

My hair is given permission to grow again,

and so I let it.

 

Finally, I am able

to make my escape.

Poetry

Dead Words

A tower of words merged into brick

waiting to crumble

like the decayed mast of a wrecked ship.

 

The alligators below all circle around

speaking of disaster and sacrifice

while they’re safe on the ground.

 

An annual mania that ignores the dying,

green apologies are spoken;

they don’t realise they’re lying.

 

And then the opening buds of a rose

speak up with new voices

querying the world with new prose.