Say it

Say it. Let the sound fill your mouth

like curry, full on flavour and spicy

enough to set your breath on fire.

Then spit it out. Let them know

the wine is sour,

and the alcohol content cannot make up for it.

Bottle their gasps for later,

you can use them at the lightshow

when they try to blot you out.

And, with their retorts,

take off your cloak and mask

so their ice-words melt from your brightness.

Show them the spectrum,

not the gradient.

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Your attention, please!

And standing, I take a breath

and place the last piece of the puzzle in place.

The click shakes the ground

and reorganises the entire picture

into a montage of how I got here

and the effort it took: the hours

of studying, crafting ’til midnight,

brainstorming in the shower,

putting on armour to shield myself from every rejection

and fighting for my voice to be heard.

 

The film keeps running,

I’m not done yet.

It’s release day for my poetry collection, A Book For Pandora!

Greetings, everyone!

A Book for Pandora has been a while in the making, so I’m delighted to finally be able to share it with you.

Those of you who have been following me since the beginning may recognise many of the poems in this collection, as most of them originated as drafts on this very blog. Of course, they have since been tweaked and fine tuned over the years until I was happy with them – which, being of the perfectionist type, was quite hard for me to do – and have now been neatly ordered and presented in one solid tome.

So, without further ado, here it is in paperback and on Kindle.

Skeleton

‘Hold out your hands,’ she says

and places the silver key on my palms,

it fits across both perfectly. ‘It can

open any door you choose, anywhere.

Keep it close, always.’

 

So I swallow the key. Safe in my belly

it stays, and safe from my memory

until every door I face

declares it’s locked.

 

It can’t be. It can’t be.

 

The memory stirs and I try to regurgitate.

It doesn’t work, and the doors laugh.

 

From inside me, the key calls out.

Unlock.

 

The doors are silenced by my voice.

I swallowed the key

and became it.

 

Name yourself

You are the voice whose edge is diamond

You are the voice of the waves and the swell

You are the voice whose call always wakens me

You are the voice of the people who fell

Bookmark

I turn the page, resting my voice for a second

and catch your gaze on me, eyes bright

and full of delight.

You’ve said many times

that my reading voice is magical.

I wouldn’t have believed you if you hadn’t looked at me that way every time.

If I didn’t know

you’d never

use words that were untrue just to flatter me.

Your words are always true,

as is your encouragement.

As is your love.

And so I shall read for you

until the years catch us up

and I can read no more.

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.

 

Rolling chances

How do you weave a web

if you don’t have a corner to claim as your own?

 

How do you spin the spindle

if there is no wheel or thread to be found?

 

How do you sing a note

when your voice is too worn to be heard?

 

And when do you have a chance

to raise your hand

when the forest is already crowded?

Throw me your voice

Your voice can turn my head no matter what task I’m at,

lift my nose from any book, draw my eyes to your face

even if you’re nowhere near.

It can still my heart in the most anxious of moments,

ease my breath

and restore the balance to my mind.

Whether only in my my thoughts or right here beside me,

you are the remedy

to all my doubts.

 

Feigned Ignorance, test one.

Look away.

Our subject isn’t cool, isn’t warm, isn’t quiet, isn’t loud.

She is simply a passenger

journeying inside a tube filled with bubbles,

and hers is burst suddenly, tearing her from the pages of the novel clutched in her hands

to the attention of the male specimen, tipsy as a timer,

demanding her number.

As if she is a prized doll for collectors.

Politely, she refuses.

 

The male specimen does not like this. He accuses her of prudishness.

As if that’s his business.

None of the other bubbles burst while this is going on.

They are content, floating away; raised voices bounce off them,

pleading looks erased by blank stares.

 

Her stop is close, the tube is slowing.

Our subject can get away this time.

Next time, let’s take away her escape route and see what happens.

I’d like to think that all the bubbles would burst then,

but my colleagues say the probability is low.

We’re not placing bets.