Can You?

CAN YOU?

We have seen too much, lover

Child-play disturbed
Our eyes forced to see
What shocked us to be real

The cruel sites of warp
That stripped away the truth
And broke apart the seal

The new truth; we become
Armed with head-tools
To strip away and break apart

Waiting in the blood
Too old to deny
Too young to submit

Too real to look back
The synco-beat of heart choke
Is what marks us now

But don’t you know who I am?
I am still that girl
Who tried to choose the child

Who at the symbol-solstice
Took your hand to seed
The hope of our new way

Who willed to strip away
The past lies we were told
And bind the broken seal

Now solus, I yet strip away
Re-bind the splintered seal
And face the solstice-sun

But can you take my hand
And walk by my side
Entwine this trail with me?

Can you weave around me
And curl into our ways
And seed the helix bond?

Because I will move alone
No fear shocks this heart
From being true again

But I wish to choose the weaver
Who armed with tools of heart
Can loop and curl our days

Silly Persons

SILLY PERSONS

Do not flatter me
Silly persons

Just because
You can frame me now
And the picture in there
Admits me to your clutch

I will never conform
To your small pride

Observing you lately
From the cold outer light
The peaky flesh on the bone
Barely hides your pith

And I do not like what I see:
Amour-propre in your conceited words

Anyway; there is no time for your silly world
When I am too busy with the fun
Kites and boats and all childish things
Devilish laughter that feeds my heart

It lights my life to skit and skip
To not let your world of tedium be mine
To grow sunflowers and magic dreams
Abandon the head-speak for wild love

So no, I am not flattered
To be now enough for your world
My world waits to stain my tongue with wine
And I will flaunt it to my pride

Body

This is about someone else

BODY

Your body tells a story
The scars and the breaks of the years
Reveal truths hidden by your poise

Some of the stories we shared
You ran down once
Another time you bled

Some stories are yours
Before the time I was there
Did they all tend to you this way?

Your me-scars tell a story
Of your constancy
And my care

In our time together
You have carried me
And I have tended your wounds

I love the scars on your body
They are the stories of us

Gone

GONE

There may come a day
When you will feel whole
And you will see in you
What I did
But then I will be gone

Not Enough (song lyrics)

want to try writing a song, but my poetry doesn’t tend to rhyme all that much. That’s why I decided to try reworking the ‘not enough/too much’ confusion and make it more music-friendly. Hopefully I’ll find the notes some day.

NOT ENOUGH

Not enough I was present
Not enough you said
Not enough that I held you
Not enough that I gave …

All I could to you
Fought for who you were
Fierce female loyalty
And surrendered, as the mare

I found the strength of woman
Believed it was a start
To carry all the weight of
Your heavy ripped up heart

But not enough in you
Talk, no being, in zen
Not enough you weren’t there
That one red-raw day when …

I asked for your arms of shelter
But now at last I see
You said not enough
But you’re not enough for me

Post-Man

The name of this poem came after (finally) realising that far from being holistic and Zen about relationships, the subject was quite post-modern in his critique of them.

POST-MAN

I do not care for
Your deconstruction of me,
The cold academic point,
The slippery beat of
Your self-oppressed heart.

In its sickly need
For more and more
You make me less and less

You reach out
To be made whole
Yet you take apart
What you grab

When I was in your tree-trunk arms
I did not realise
The dissection; your protection

Now I feel the cold
When I think of my black sun
The coroner of my psyche

You really did not want to build
Anything of the sort of thing
You said you saw

I did wonder how I would be framed,
You picked one thing
For your definition of me

When I spoke of my love; your beauty
You could not even say
One real thing

Because maybe you would need
To deconstruct once again
Your deconstruction of me

The Note

THE NOTE

I do not know
How to begin
To put the note on the page

I know how to draw
The vertical stem;
Attach it to the bulb
Black-ink it in

F and G clefs
Form watery from the pen
The curves and swirls
Cleaving the stave

But how do I begin
To find the note
That rings like you rang in me?