I think my skull would rattle if you shook it –
filled with an assortment of past things.
I’ll pluck and keep them as trinkets,
souvenirs, mementos of has been.
I fear losing thoughts, and days,
so I pocket reminders of each place I go
(in heart, in mind, in body, in soul).
I awoke with my head submerged in water,
ears blocked, the world locked out of my perception.
There’s a knock on a window somewhere but I can’t tell which one
this muffled echo is coming from – a pathetic attempt at a sound.
I’ve lost touch with my senses, like they’re running out of battery,
confused with each other, I can feel sounds but not hear them.
These are a few blackout poems I have created, some recently and some from a little while ago. I like doing these when I want to write something but don’t want to conjure something from the depths of my brain. It’s also an interesting restriction to place upon one’s creative capacity, because there are only…
I found you in a song the other day
And you’ve been stuck in my head ever since.
You hide in faceless laughs and sideways glances,
An illusion in the corner of my eye.
I think I see a flicker of familiar and then
You’re gone, lingering as a distant relic
Or existing in only two dimensions –
Frozen in photographs
Where I don’t quite look like me.
I’m told I was conjured from a flickering light,
Or dancing phosphenes –
Dots of red and blue and green
Arranging to become me.
But I don’t remember it any more than
A child remembers being born.
Then again, I don’t remember life at all.
With you there are no daydreams
Or holding on to night dreams.
You are all my dreams in one.
A pocket dream in the coat of reality,
A door opened to a world bigger on the inside with
Life chaotically everywhere,
But in here it is still and only ever now.
A forty minute bumpy ride, with engine rumbles disrupting the air that I hear but don’t listen to and even the voices that fill my diminishing personal space are just white noise in my quiet. Somehow I’d forgotten how to lose myself in thought. I’d forgotten what escape was. I’d forgotten that this time was…
I feared in cutting my hair I would
Cut away my ability to twirl the locks
Around my finger and in turn
Be left with a loss of femininity.
But femininity isn’t found
In my wearing of a dress nor is it
Erased by boots and leather jackets.
It isn’t seen but expressed with a soft
Caress of his neck or a hand through his hair
And flushed cheeks in the sun.
Sweet smiles and a head held high.
Femininity is the delicacy of a flower
And the power of a diamond
That will never break and
It’s pretty because it sparkles
Not because it’s rare.