confidence.

That exam. It broke me in two.
Your thoughtless actions. You exposed me, when I wasn’t ready.
All that ignorance. You never realised how much it meant, for you to understand.
Inspiration mutilated before my very eyes. Abandoned. What to do.
Fame and fortune; it suits you. You’ve made me wanting, a jealous fool.
Pen, after pen, after pen. They fall, from gaping wounds, escaping while they still can.
Why wouldn’t they?
For when the cartridge runs empty,
When the broken nib is shaking,
When the lid is lost and waiting,
How can one express mere feeling,
When there’s nothing left to say?

over and over again.

What is so appealing
About falling?
Like a slate-roof-tile
That doesn’t bounce
When it hits the rough, wet floor
It’s hardly fun
To smash to pieces
Over and over again.
Is it?

wading.

I’m standing on an ocean shore
Deserted, alone,
The tide breaks a mile away
Far from me as the sky
I can feel it, heavy, coming,
About to break
Then the thought escapes
And the waves are lapping
Around my waist
An idea; no more than a drop,
A tear, swelling in my mind
I’m dragged below the surf
Neck submerged, into the deep
The doubt comes creeping
Circling beneath ny flailing feet
Teeth bared, eyes darkest black
Surging upwards -
Like a rope in my hands
I feel it slipping
That cord of tension
Strand of fear, knotted
It falls away
I see it, I reach, outstretched
It falls away
I want to hold it back
Maybe I’m onto something
A meaning, a sign
Perhaps I’m not this way
inclined …
A whisper of smoke, its gone
By a swish of curls,
An incandescent smile
And I’m back standing
On this open shore
Clothes dripping, unsure why
And the label is slapped,
On my head, once again
For each grain of sand
To challenge and stare
My feet on dry land,
But my thoughts
Out at sea.

the buzzard.

A beam of light
Through purpled clouds
And there, the buzzard
On his wide wings drifting
Through open air, blushing sky
His lithe frame tilting
No ruler or refrain
Or chains to this crumpled land
Or stone, crevice and creed
And blistered greed
His high cry screeching
Through silence still, of the moors
He’s ever soaring
Higher than the mountains call
Gripped in his claws
The life before, of prey
He crushes, fair price to pay
For an endless day of
Sweeping, diving
Defying gravity and gale
No grasp can hold him
His deep, scarred eyes
Scour every valley, peak and rise
He misses nothing
The power, rippled in his bones
And feathers, stream-line
Fast and lonely
Existence adapted, perfected
To fly above and beyond
This lowly ground
His own master, a beauty crowned
In humble gold and brown.

that voice.

I could drown in the sound
Of her melancholy voice
So mellow and deep
I can feel that cool liquid running
Down the walls of my throat, as I listen
And scull in solemn words, sombre tones
My heart is soothed, my eyes slowly close
Not a murmur escapes my lips as they part
And allow the flood to fill my aching lungs
My the thirst, quenched,
By the rise and fall of every note
Her voice could melt the hardest ice, reduce glass
To the very grains of sand from whence it came.
I could drown in the luscious sounds
Of her melacholy voice
As wide, exposed as the ocean on
A clear winter’s night
Yet her gaze can set the rain alight
Each drop of water, cascading
Over rocks and glistening peaks
Glorious, they rest in cloud’s embrace
As her voice soars to touch the highest point,
Ever reaching to drown my mortal self,
Or something more,
Something more than this life.