deepundergroundpoetry.com
The bonny years.
I can still imagine you,
with the help of a few poems that led me astray.
All bones, you'd laugh
inside the cage of your body
and your lips wouldn't move
but I'd rather you cleaned out the grooves in your mouth and allowed something to
engage them, to hurt them, to burden.
There were no arms and no mounds and no blinks that I could provide
to change your disdain
and we stayed in the back of your mother's garden, throwing axes above my head
- in my head.
A flatline,
the peace and the over,
the left and the behind
and I won't disguise I miss that time
but we watched and we learnt and we grew,
separately
and I could never give you what you want and need
and you could never give me enough.
with the help of a few poems that led me astray.
All bones, you'd laugh
inside the cage of your body
and your lips wouldn't move
but I'd rather you cleaned out the grooves in your mouth and allowed something to
engage them, to hurt them, to burden.
There were no arms and no mounds and no blinks that I could provide
to change your disdain
and we stayed in the back of your mother's garden, throwing axes above my head
- in my head.
A flatline,
the peace and the over,
the left and the behind
and I won't disguise I miss that time
but we watched and we learnt and we grew,
separately
and I could never give you what you want and need
and you could never give me enough.
Published 27th May 2016
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Reaching the end of this poem was akin to the emotion
of closing a beautiful book that you didn't want to end.
A flatline,
the peace and the over,
the left and the behind
I have been present so many times for this transition
back home, and oft felt both envious and relief in
ways I can't really explain.
I shall think of this poem often, Poppy.
Thank you for sharing.
of closing a beautiful book that you didn't want to end.
A flatline,
the peace and the over,
the left and the behind
I have been present so many times for this transition
back home, and oft felt both envious and relief in
ways I can't really explain.
I shall think of this poem often, Poppy.
Thank you for sharing.
Those last two lines are a perfect closing to a wistful write. Sometimes what we want is not what we need after all - hard to admit. Thank you, Poppy.
28th May 2016 3:49am
so many things here that should be forgotten,
but you remember when you sleep alone.
sure, it follows...
but you remember when you sleep alone.
sure, it follows...
28th May 2016 6:22am
The past is an interesting place to visit... but I wouldn't want to live there... and yet, there is something wistful here. Like this, will sleep on it, and come back.
