Do I see a smirk on your face
When I say my son is gay?
Do I hear a sneer in your voice
Cause he’s gone astray?
I pity your constricted mind
And your cowering heart
Come, I’ll help you now
To take them both apart.
In your disinfected space
you wont let vermin crawl?
Fear not, there’s a world outside
for them to stand tall.
Ans as they grow and spread their wings
You’ll find you’ve shrunk in size
Ah for that myopic sight
that is a fitting prize.
Drinking tears running
Down my cheeks
Drowning haunting thoughts
In my cup of coffee
Bittersweet memories
Going round and round
In my restless mind
Putting salt in
My still open wounds
Stirring your lies
Covered in sugar
Picking the crumbs of
Unrequited love.
when you leave
I will smile
as you turn
away and go
while these words
sketch the outline
of where you were
Relating to women the way I do
Maybe it’s me that’s bipolar
Have to get back to you on that one
When I figure out who will be doing the talking
Ran into my neighbor in the supermarket
She’s a flight attendant
Just back from Portugal she says
She always looks good in a perpetual jet lag haze
Sleeping in the living room the past few nights
Got the whole sofa bed to myself
Feel like a visitor in my own home
Maybe I’ll do some tourist stuff just to see what’s what
I’ve been airlifted
From that place
Which you revisit
Your dream state
That joyful noise
Which brings a glint
To your eyes
For some it is a place
Clogged with plaque
Post traumatic stress
Flashbacks
I can’t obliterate memories
Rising from the black hole
Of the past
Badly bruised fruit
The kind you discard
Along with the worm
That will not die
Just give me thirty seconds
Of delicious amusement
Versus fifty years
Of dirty little secrets
In the cracks of walls
Flashback
Up upon his city perch,
nestled in obsidian dark.
His keen eye’s never-ending search,
until it meets it’s mark.
Dispensing empty shells into the restless night.
Never wavered with the rain.
The thrill of will’s first flight.
His conviction far extends his frame,
his hunger never waiting.
Peering through forsaken sky,
aloft tenuous debating.
His instincts are surgical, whispering to “fly.”
Threw himself to the winds.
Nevermores are our goodbyes.
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The clock strikes,
the moon with a glazed look
descends on the howling dog.
The stars seem to clash
and the wind hovers over the
sleeping town. This was yesterday.
A thousand small spiders
creeping across the page.
Laden with errors, one voice
says, while another uses the word
Wit and still another says
Nowhere near ready. Send more,
Send less, Quit sending.
A thousand shards of glass,
a thousand bitter barbs and a few
roses,
and that’s the work ahead.
They kissed for luck
as a shooting star
flung itself across the sky, then he let her walk away, and when she
left
all the stars went with her.
More at http://tamsengrace.com.
Reading a poem
light the centre
desire wells
but, writing
is not easy.