Yesterday I found the bookmark you had gifted me five years ago. It lay in a paperback between pages 8 and 9. The cover hadn't lost its gloss, and not a single page had creases. Odd, considering most of my books end up with dog-eared pages. Some have been read so long, they always stay … Continue reading Bookmark
Drop your tears in the middle of a poem. See where they run. Which word do they hang on to? Where do they roll off the edge? Do they fill the spaces between the lines? Settling there in puddles until they evaporate leaving their salt behind. Maybe they meander around some words, cautious not to … Continue reading Drop your tears in the middle of a poem
Memory is a snake, Hibernating when needed, Hissing when not. The Dirty Thirty, Poem 9 Lagging behind in the April Poem a Day challenge. Got to go at more than 2 poems a day now.
Goodbye world, I have to leave now. Even as I say these words, some of them might sound too loud, some might sound like faint whispers, and you might wonder what was left unsaid. Some words might have to lie behind the curtain of this farewell, spoken, unheard. Goodbye world, I have to soar. Alone. … Continue reading When a balloon soars into the sky
I’ll let you in on a secret. If you jump high enough, you can land on a rainbow. If you time your leap to the precise millisecond, you will have green under your feet. You may also verify if there’s indeed a pot of gold somewhere. If you are fast but not fast enough, you … Continue reading The bird’s eye view from atop a rainbow
I sit alone in this room. I’m the sun in a solar system that has lost its planets. Why should I burn? My light is blinding me. It was different yesterday when you were here. We were binary stars then, gravitating towards each other, exchanging our warmth, our passion fuelling our light. Now that you have … Continue reading Lonely Sun
If I were a poem, you would not turn the page, you would not switch on the TV, You would be grabbed by the collar, and your eyes would stay nailed to my last words.
Have you ever wondered why our faces have no edges? I have; this is my hypothesis. Wouldn’t it be awkward to slide off a lip and hurtle onto the floor? Or find your tongue stuck on the jagged edge of a chin? Or worse, discover clunky sounds while making love? Sure, faces are better off with curves. … Continue reading Faces have no edges
Wait, before you leave, Walk backwards through the door so it seems you never came. The Dirty Thirty, Poem 4
Even mirrors need light. Don’t wonder when you can’t see a reflection No matter how spotless the looking glass might have been. The Dirty Thirty, Poem 3