Lucky Number Seven

the baptismal tide

leaning against the dock stations railing
waiting for the next train to arrive delayed
in the distance i saw her approach aloof
and not having caught this route before
she was nervously shivering and unsure

sits on a bench and works up her defence
detached distant insecure listless
fixes her hair in a handheld mirror
stares into her own eyes and wonders awhile

its hard to engage with a brain so beautiful
might as well agree shes not meant for you
so instead you adore at a distance finally stalk

walk behind her on a starless night
and brain her with a torch

step back in horror as blood spills onto floor
it was supposed to be romantic now shore
will have to wash the road clean
when high tide fills the streets

and i watched from a distance as
i leaned against the dock stations railing

The Sixth Note

Faithless Men

Faithless, cold, and emotionless.
No stench of fresh cooked bread

or the fresh sea air
mingling with the dead
aroma of men who fish for money
to buy honey
and bread.

And The Five Elements Of Life

I Only Read the Introduction to Nietzsche’s Beyond Good and Evil

I know I left my mind at the back of the queue:
our unrefined lack of taste in truth.

Back dated culture and insincere concern,
not something your mind can learn.
The manifest belief we’re wrong

to be ringing her memories;
even though I’d like to scratch behind her eyes.
I tried to muster the energy to walk
but self-pride sticks to the roof
and arachibutyrophobia to boot!

I was born too early for modern apathy.
New ideas and cold fears,
blood drunk hung love,
and that cruel formation of another crush.

I’m scared of these blinking lights,
like the Rubik’s cube of life.
And I’m thinking of some way I can fit
conjecture into a line:
The little powdered nose of Christ.

To The Four Corners Of The World

The Letter Was Burnt

It was only going in the bin anyway:
where the disliked live and show their fear,
without reprise and aren’t afraid to run away
or stand their ground and fight.
They’ve always teased us and made us hate our smiles.
The way we walk and talk;
the way we laugh and cry and die;
and only end up saying goodbye.

Momentarily is scarily too soon for fairies.

Third Time Lucky

Papillon

The metamorphic change worms make
become patches of sky ripped away.
Colours that dance before your eyes,
and remind you just how much it’s possible to change.
Rainbows painted onto form;
no longer bound to the earth,
but free to dance and play.

No longer have to wait around for rain.

On Second Thoughts

At Least You’re There

I may one day write a poem
about you, but know I’ll never
tell, lest you throw your hands up in
despair and question why I bring
so much emotion to pen. So

I’ll say its fiction about a
woman I saw in a café
crying as her heart was flayed, and
thought I can’t share with you I feel
your warmth support agreement that
there are some things left best unsaid.

And on separate sides of the
bed we sleep are our own lamps,
paperback fictions lying beside
our heads. At least I know the
warmth of you is there, to comfort
me, when I’m scared.

The First Note

I’m Done Pleasing

It is for the sake of believing
that I’m wondering backwards from the tide

I was born too late for.
Is reality in the mind?

I know my soul is sharp like shattered glass,
and that we no longer know time.

So don’t divest feeling into any one thing or fool,
threaten the memory with death

or maul colour from butterflies,
that swim in the sea folk air.

Don’t joke about the fragility of the mind
or how easy it is to wander away.

The One That Started All This

Sitting Still

The silence rings and echoes in the hallway,
The laughter that was once is now all gone.
The shadows fluttering by are all lifeless,
And I don’t know if this is right or all wrong.

The world is divided into many places,
By many different types of people.
The clues that we hold come to us,
In the day when we are sitting still.

I haven’t seen you since the morning you left,
I haven’t been to bed and I haven’t slept.
My ugliness is multiplied by my drunkenness,
And I completely forgot about all the rest.

If the ringing in my ears is still lifeless,
However am I to know what to do?
My echoing halls are very confusing,
But that might be because all this is new.

I once heard the pita-patter of those footsteps,
But I realise now that they are all long gone.
The decisions that I made were useless,
Even if nobody around me is to care.

Between life and the real world sits a kind of cataract.
We know we don’t see the truth,
We tell ourselves that it’s real,
To hide the fact that it’s false.

The world is divided into many places,
By many different types of people.
The clues that we hold come to us,
In the day when we are sitting still.