I want a connection like no other. I want inspiration. I want to disappear from the mundane and delve into the mystique of beauty. I want to gaze at the stars on moonlit nights, to walk through the woods and see the wind blow through your hair. Tell me what it feels like? I want to experience it through your eyes. I want to be touched by the magic of delicate flowers and knarled old trees and know that you see it too without you saying a word. I want to talk about the crippling depths of reality, and the painful mysteries of our existence. I want the sharing of books and poetry. I pass the words on as if they are mine to give, knowing you will understand and experience the depth of feeling that I have found in them. I want to walk by the sea, and feel that the waves are powerless beside the strength that you possess in challenging my reality.
I’m a blue flannel jacket. She only wears me when she’s trying to fit in with all the butch chicks down the gay village. I rarely escape from her closet except when she’s going down the village or to pride. And even then this year she swapped me for a pride T-shirt. I only get a trip out of the closet when she leaves hers. I don’t even look gay. She bought me from a main stream store womenswear department. I’m fitted, for goodness sake. It just so happens we’re in fashion at the moment. ‘Lesbian chic’. There they go, raining on our parade again. I jest. I don’t mind who owns me as long as they look after me and I feel loved. She’s on a loser with me. I don’t attract the ladies. but it doesn’t attract the ladies. They don’t even look at her. I’m a jacket. Her breasts are at my eye line. My eyes might as well be her nipples. I know when someone is looking me in the eye.
I fell in love with you
I will not be ashamed.
The scorch of the sun marks the hours
We’ve had more than our share of April showers.
We got to know each other,
With the how are yous and
What have you been up tos
Then the veneer fell off
Revealing the real us
Then we got to know each other
Dancing on fireworks
Sparkles transforming to sparks
Our web of complexities
Spinning us deeper.
We are enmeshed,
A twine of toxicity.
Wanting to run but-
In search of answers
We get more questions.
You’d think I’d have learned by now
I’ve been here before.
But here I go again.
Marking the same territory
The well worn path of heartbreak
Making deepening grooves in my soul
A familiar insanity.
But you made me no promises. It was me that made the promises, naive enough to think you could make them come true.
I walk down the avenue at the back of our house. When I was a young child the bows of the trees would heave with pink blossom and the pavement was carpeted with silky petals. I’d dance through fairyland throwing handfuls of pink blossom and it would coat my hair like a fairy from A Midsummer Night’s Dream. The blossom doesn’t fall anymore. The trees are dead.
Love is violent.
An assault on someone else’s being.
I’m taking you along for the fight.
I have to capture you first.
It blossomed like a bud that bloomed in the dew.
When presented with petals you gave their perfume.
They glow far away from the cold winter’s gloom,
Stemmed from the stalk of a plant there are few.
An unknown plant, be it snowdrop or bluebell?
Its form overshadowed by dark spiky shrub
A shame that it may be reduced to a shrub.
It’s unable to flower, so we cannot tell.
But it was replanted into some fresh soil,
Responded to the warmth that it needed
Know to respect every plant that is seeded.
Restore its leaves from their former turmoil.
The sensuous satin of free flowing flower
Now restored to its predestined glory,
Burns red and gold and tells its own story.
Mysteriousness exerts a strong power.
Undulating in wind and changing in hue
From spring to summer, from blushes to blushes
Intertwining stem reaches gracefully high,
Keeps stretching on, and never to die
Above the still water, obscured by the rushes
Into the sky of pervading dark blue.
This specimen isn’t a usual flower,
Producing a scent, ethereal perfume
Because it knew the Rhododendron’s plume,
Whose leaves are present at every dark hour.
Its vibrant shades of purple, red, white
Compliment the display of passiflora,
Creating a brighter atmosphere for her,
A frenzy of heat generates light.
At the height of season, one will bear fruit,
The other remains with tentacle leaves,
Which are viewed as a farmer views his sheaves
Or a renowned musician views his flute.
In the end the gardener comes to tend.
All change and some plants must be plotted elsewhere,
Though they’ll harmonize through the bees of the air
All in the garden their bloom will transcend.
You opened the bud that bloomed in the dew
Now Eden’s core, revealed by the snake
Reflected as clear in the silvery lake.
All the scent of the petals I give to you,
The blood tears that showed up the sky’s naive blue,
I gather, preserve and devote them to you.