The curtains fluttered against her legs
she stood solidly
her dead eyes
locked onto the ant farm
below
So many attempts to fly
flirting with glimpses of
success
She’d held on to her dreams
for so very long
despite betrayal
And now
with one step
her dreams would hold her
completely
Tag Archives: poetry
Hungry Ghosts on Huaihai Lu
addled
busy buyers
rattle packages
and step in time
through
glass doors
drop questions
of taste
in tissue
and feed the beast
that
torments them
Published in MaLa Literary Journal 2013
http://www.mala-literary-journal.com/
framed
I look through you
you open the world to me
my umbilical cord to the universe of clarity
basically
you frame my eyes
but to onlookers
you frame my appearance
and my abilities
intelligent
reserved
aesthetic
definitely not athletic!
my!
how small frames
thus worn
open all possibilities to me
yet close them
to those who see
(Dedicated to anyone who wears glasses)
see me
How do I escape
from
herstory’s face?
I grow my own
but
shall I compare thee…….
that blighting
phrase
connives to
make
me
invisible
I grow my own
arms
and legs
and the jelly
between my ears
is not
from an instant mix
yet
I
am branded
by 21st century
Limited
media indoctrination
and
peripheral vision
is not
knowing
Tight
i am a limpet
in love
if i choose you
and
you, foolishly, choose me
i will leap
from the ground
and
wrap my arms
and legs
about you
tightly
tangled
in your hydroponic focus
giddy
and scalp bleeding
i promise
to grow a
lethal barnacle
around our love
cutting any
who
try to
crowbar
us
apart
with warmth
and moisture
between us
we grow our own
food
and live
oblivious
to
genocide
toxic contamination
and global warming
in our
pearly shell house
Grace
the age of snow
has come to you
contradicting
your olive, wrinkled
brow
shocked
at first
to see your wintery
translation
I gradually
accepted
nature’s exhibitionism
trumpeting you
as
one lucky enough
to revel in
time’s
descriptive patterns
losing you (alternatively named – that putrid organ inside me that is intent on my destruction)
I miss your arms so
and i’m slow and clumsy at parting
the stoic cynical me
pretends i’m used to losing
but deep down
i’m just paddling
to keep myself from drowning
one breath
at a time
is hard enough to manage
Published in Crannog, Ireland.
