poetry

Just two lovers sitting in the park.

We’re just two lovers sitting in the park,

Waiting for the end of the world.

We do not rush-

No, instead we linger,

In earthy stillness,

Just to see if love never truly ends.

We watch the grass dance with bumble bees,

And the wind play with shadows;

All is quiet, until I lean over and whisper in my lover’s ear:

‘Bury me beneath that tree.

The one covered in green, green ivy’

That way it’s roots can fill my veins

And I, too, will become overgrown,

Filling in the lonely parts of us.

My heart will swell with rainwater,

And my soul can drink in the wind.

poetry

A spider lives on the moon

A spider lives on the moon.

She spins a web between the stars,

Weaving lines of silk against a dark, summer sky,

Like spirals of beautiful things cast around the world,

To catch the lost souls left wandering through the night.

A spider lives on the moon,

And I think she’s lonely;

Lonely up there between worlds,

Holding up the universe

In the absence of suns.

I wish I could be the moon,

Or even just a star,

To be encased in her soft touch,

And either of us would have to be alone.

poetry

The girl in the tower

Light filters in,

Like soft thorns on her skin.

She slips it through her fingers,

Imagining it a ribbon

Winding round her hand

So she can bring down the sky and it’s stars.

She listens to the wind

And imagines feathers on her back,

To fly up with the ravens

And greet the moon as one.

She recites all her spells,

And summons monsters she shouldn’t know-

Ones with red eyes-

From the dusk,

But the night was never hers.

poetry

Some Old Lover’s Ghost

Oh, I long to talk to some old lover’s ghost,

To learn a little bit of what it’s like to fly with angels,

So in love you think you see Heaven.

Oh, how I wish to see looks of love and malice-

So twisted and rotten that I can no longer tell the difference-

Hatred mistook for passion;

Guilt mistook for kindness.

Oh, how I ache steal another lover’s dreams,

And be visited by anything than our long-dead love,

But even with you buried, I find myself haunted.

And you know I cannot lie,

You were right,

I am nothing without you.



But I suppose I should find comfort in knowing you are now also nothing without me.

Perhaps that is why you visit me so-

To beg me to release you from this brick prison.

Oh, how you must know there is no place for you outside these walls.

And once I and this house are gone, there will be no one left for you to taunt.

poetry

Pleasantly Haunting

This place is full of ghosts.

They exist in the gloomy light of

Corpse-coloured candles

In those dark cottage walls,

Lingering with a ghoulish fondness.

I find myself drawn to remain also.

Perhaps these melancholy ruins offer

More than fear;

They invite somber reflections-

Reflections of the living as well as the dead-

And I find it pleasantly haunting

To explore the shadows

That hint at the brief spans of life

That may have walked these halls.

Although I worry our friends may have haunted too long;

Now they creak and moan at the slightest breathe

Across the stairs;

Wail and whine at the smallest strain.

You see,

These quiet graves are full of noise;

Full of grave suggestion

That perhaps we cannot die.

We’re fated to pace these cold floors forever-

Bound by footprints left in dust;

Tied to ballads about lives we can no longer mind

But the world decided to remember.

poetry

Bury the Hatchet

Bury the hatchet,

Or better yet burn it

And scatter the ashes so far across the sea

We stand no chance of digging it up.

‘Cause I know you,

You’ll get bored and start looking.

At least this way

We can only stand on the beach

And reminisce in what

It used to be.