from new orleans to naples.

                  from new orleans

where people embrace age,
instead of trying to hide behind
a squeaking plastic facade.
he could already feel the mellowing blues
pouring from cafe doors
and into his yearning ears
throaty laughter, a contented drawl
as the music taught his eyes to listen
and his feet were lifted and
taught to dance

step by leap
through sprawling streets
past the flowing echo
of busker against sandy stone wall
he touched the scent of secrets from
a language, like melodic notes
flying from weathered lips
onto his blank canvas soul
the colour of wine.
where people live in art
instead of trying to flourish
in disillusioned wealth

                    to naples.

that fatal toothbrush.

a man stands in front of a window.
he sees his previous lover, smiling,
dining with a date. a purpose.
without any inclination of thought
towards his efforts
of remembering to return her toothbrush.

he turns, gets into his car,
presses his foot down, with gentle precision,
and drives straight through the red brick front wall
of his previous lover's house.


i know now, i am still hurting.
i know, that i am still angry.
i know now, that i will be this lonely
for quite a time.

i tried to cling on, too close
some may think it trivial,
to persevere in suffering
for the sake of barely three weeks, in younger years.

but love is a wealthy friend
it lingers, with good intentions
to postpone sobriety
now, it is asking to be excused, at last.

hurt and anger are staying the night
hence, i must lie and wait til morning,
remove the keys from the hungry ignition
and nurse an old aching wound.

i'm sorry, for holding on too much.

red brick walls intact, fingers crossed.

baby-sitting.

timid and thin
the little girl, curled into a ball
cries for her mother,
innocent eyes torn with anguish
she knows she has been forgotten again.

afraid of the dark
like most small ones are
but she fears more
the essence of the darkness
how it might change her
how she might not be
mummy's good little girl anymore
should the black mouth consume her.

she screams
i hold her hands, consoling
in every way my panicked mind
will reveal,
but my hands, as always,
the wrong size
she yearns for the delicate touch
from the mother she craves
my foolish disguise ripped away
by raw inadequecy
there was nothing i could do.

helpless, i felt her suffering
sobbing, she clung to the light switch
untrusting despite my promises
whilst my anger for her mother swelled
within me.

this poor child, i couldn't keep her safe
both of us waiting
for a release from this hell
i couldn't keep her safe,
as the sunlight descended
running from her pleas
i couldn't keep her safe,
as exhaustion shook me
and mistakes became inflamed.

and the little girl
timid and thin
cried for her mother
until she ran out of tears.

crimson angel.

a strange girl, i first thought
as she presented herself
subtly, with the sound of tearing
paper beneath that fateful manuscript
laced with poison ink. fatal,
from once written to last read.

but the girl
besides the many words, i was
speechless.

hair, tangled, various shades of
pink skin, pale, her delicate form
portrayed in the slight turn of her head
gazing over bare shoulder
right through me, with those deep
shining eyes, those emerald moons
unflinching.

she's seen everything
knowing, in her quiet way
what a fool i have been
yet her expression never falters
never judges, despite
my tears, endless frustrations
hopeless, cases of unrequited affections

crimson angel,
if only humans were this fair.

so am i being cruel
locking you away
it is no fault of yours that
your crafter was an artist
this is no elegy, for
you will not be forgotten
this is no, simply cast aside
i ask for a while to collect
my trinket thoughts

my crimson angel
that face, a mystery to me.
those sad, shining eyes.
you have had your way with me.
rest, now.

i can see you.

gnaws through flesh with blood stained teeth
tears from her scalp with vigour and skill
claws at her skin as if no more than meat
as demon watches from her window sill

airport terminal, august the twentieth.

i remember now
perhaps, more vividly
the end of this bleak memory
of one of  life's overlooked curses

waiting.

silent.
a whole silent nineteen
hours, waiting,
to go home.
waiting for her.

from heat to air-conditioned
chaos. a holiday, finally
turning sour, as i had expected it to.

DELAYED.
surely, a joke.
of course not.
it never is.

we weren't the only ones,
twisting in uncomfortable nylon chairs
as the others dispersed
like once swarming flies
to another source of sticky pleasure.

i circled, impatient shark
teeth snapping
smooth soles slapping
on linoleum floor
a food token
consolation prize
like a needy refugee
clasped in my sweaty palm.

he keeps following me
can't blame him, he's stuck here as well
but he's too close
a sick submissive, trying to limp
after his agitated mistress.

mindlessly browsing for
the twenty-fifth time
my gaze falls upon a book
the very same that drags this
sordid account from the dregs
of my mind.

a spark of interest is all i need
two hours amidst the many
blur past me, huddled
in a helpless heap, draining
this book of all its soul
pencil scribbling as i disappear
then, i finish.
the hands, merciless,
slow down once again.

eyelids drooping
could this be?
sleep, of all things, a blessing
to swat the time away?
ha.
the engines hum
the building shudders
not used to the emptiness
finally.

we board, a line of murmurs
the joy fades as a simultaneous
realisation rings; eight hours to go.
restless, although mind is numb
head pounds, as sleep evades me
the view provides some comfort
we seem to be floating
above an ocean of clouds
stars dreaming
within the deep violet-blue
of the quiet night sky

i think of her.
the smile hurts on a weary face.

day breaks
the sun streams through
pungent acid rain
the first breath of air, so fresh
free of the stuffy compartments
not-enough-leg-room and
gagging green pillows
then the cold hits.
temperature is an easily forgotten thing.

bleary eyes search for the taxi
so close to the end
travel sickness, overwhelming
i can hardly walk for nauseous spinning
traffic, naturally
tick tick tick
a familiar street
nearly there
doors clicks shut
home.

the sound of her voice.
that, letter.




as are the higlights
of a summer vacation.

'never say sorry for the things that make you happy.'

lost ring.

it lies in the long, green grass.
small band of silver, an eye of glass.
after months of careful thought,
it slips from my grasp,
an accident, of all things.
does it wait for me?
does it yearn to rest where it has been for a while,
across oceans and under skies,
or does it expect another fumbling,
small hand to retrieve it?
only a shallow mind could wonder so much,
over a small of band of silver,
with a single glass eye.

weather for boots.

a storm is coming
the dry ground gapes below, thirsty
waiting for the thunder
vicious flares across the sky
the cloud approaches
inky blue against fading beige
wind squeals in childish delight
as big tree dances
to the sound of the booming bass drum
shaking the air
as patience grows thin
anticipation builds
she gives way again
silently submissive, with all the weight to bear
standing in empty field
palms outstretched
drowned by nature's cruel dominance
the first tear falls
and the heavens open.

i want to fall in love with an artist.

i want to fall in love with an artist
messy, captivating, gentle
as she strokes her hand across the canvas
precise, each forceful line and curve
falling at ease, color and detail effortlessly
intertwined, each tilted breath stolen
from my lips at the detail of her soul
displayed on a page.

i want to fall in love with a musician
a pianist, to watch slender fingers caress
cold keys, recalling every note again
and again, like cherished memories
a guitarist, to hear skin touch tender string
strumming, rhythm swings with melody
hand in hand, those rough tips
soft against my face
a vocalist, tugging at my tears
with every rise and fall of
textured voice, thick with emotion
and bounteous chest as verse flows
and captures my heart.

i want to fall in love with a dancer
gaze at her fragile body flying
through mist and air, transforming
into seamless shapes whilst delicate limbs
bend and twist against a painted sky
lost in movement, my eyes only for her
as i see love and desire
lift her beyond the restraints of this world.

i want to fall in love with a athlete
run through tongues of fire beside her
swim in gushing water currents beneath her
jump and glide with flowing gales above her
place a ball at her feet, or in practised hands
scream as she embraces glory
and catch her in my arms, should she lose her footing
on the way.

i want to fall in love with a teacher
one who cares for every spirited mind
wise with her words, inspiring
she listens and learns herself
from the profound understanding of the young
a smile that sparks a flow of ideas, worth
a thousand words of praise
giving a careful shoulder ride
to growing imaginations, each one
reaching higher than the next
as the eternal child inside of her
laughs and plays just the same.

i want to fall in love with a waitress
sliding between table tops
submissive to every want and wish
waiting for chance to pause and chat

i want to fall in love with a psychologist
let her analyse every contour
every pleasured sigh
before we're both institutionalised.

i want to fall in love with a photographer
who sees more than just a picture
through the circle of a lens

i want to fall in love with a scientist
who sees more than a star
through the eye of a telescope

i want to fall in love with a person
passionate, beautiful and brave
who lives for what they do
and the people they adore
and brings a piece of magic to this world
that only they can give.