Poems of Youth
I close my eyes and feel the breeze from the nearby window/
I open them you are sitting across from me, smoke spewing from parched lips/
/there is salt on my fingers/I touch it/it rubs off/
I find little comfort in the grimy air/thick with trivial conversation and grey smoke stories/
You run rings around my eyes/and smile at me/I don’t know how to smile back/I can’t find comfort at this dirty table/
Take me away from here/I screamed at you/but these thoughts are not loud enough/
All I want is a cozy clean life/with bedside manners/and warmth on my skin/
I want to be happy/I want to feel free.
An observation of N.B
Just a child/that empty whisky glass/sitting, beckoning/in her hot little hand/
waiting to be refilled/so it can consume her soul.
An old woman/the lines on her face tell her tales of tragedy and time/
her own story/in wrinkles and rhyme.
I watch the red glow, like a fiery eye in the midst of rage.
Smoke, in ringlets and hoops, glide swiftly off. Feathery grey ash makes its way in a gravitational pull, to the ground.
Lights flicker, and the room is bright no longer
The glow of my cigarette burns out before me,
In the darkness I stand, not caring
one little bit.
I’m finding some sounds have become particularly appealing;
the sound of my spoon stirring in the cappuccino..
EDNOS for the brave
Even if I wasn’t eating.. when I wasn’t eating, my mother would still make me sit at the table. Them, with their hot dishes, me with my coffee cup – saccharine sweet and light coffee. Sometimes I would watch with envy and unsatisfied hunger. Other times simply with disgust- the chewing and swallowing too much for my hunger to bear. There I would sit, sad, silent. Totally without realisation of acceptance.
Words have lost all meaning
Bidding, hoping I will be the one/lucky to claim
Throwing in the money/going nowhere/being still
Bidding in this lot/show me the prize/where is my soul gliding off to? / where is the door?
Silhouettes, danced, more/ take me away.