Bad swimmer

I am
Drowning.

Water seeps into my unwelcome
lungs and forces out the
wanted air
bubbles are rising to the surface of
mournful Mondays that
spin on the axis of this ridiculous
existence, which we
repeat, without question.

Mondays always come.

I’m waving arms – high above my head
My fingers rise and sink into the blue
and I am unsure of why
I remain invisible to you.
For
Here I am!

Here
I
Am

I am drowning, and screaming to you
but we were long trained to
Tame these voices
With accolades and accomplishments
Of a more material nature

All those Mondays have bought us
Mansions
In each room hangs photos of
our Orchestrated joys
calling to me,
Look ! See 
how happy
My Monday’s make me !

But I was made for other things
Dreams and clouds and
Lying next to you for days on end
Bathed in sun and summer slumber
for my soul is only permeable to love.

I forgot to tell him,
That I can’t swim.
And most magnificent mansions
make seas of emptiness.

So I’m drowning.

In Mondays that always come
and all they manifest.
but, it may be too late, to say it–So make sure you use the really happy photos
To stand in my stead
At the funeral.

Bedtime prayers

Dear God.

Seriously.
won't you just set me free?

this is a special kind of misery that I

willingly drown in hopes of something

that never comes.

dear god take this cup - that is, what he said was it not?

yes,take this cup and beating heart,

that dares to dream and dance and kneel before

altars of men who couldn't be bothered

to connect the dots

between what is and what is not.

And,while you're at it take my eyes

so that i am not undone

by their trickery,

which tells me smiles have hidden truths

or the magic to undo

that old devils work.

Dear God won't you release me.

i speak to you as though you were real.

if you were perhaps i'd find

that prayers of this kind

were answered.

one night stand

be honest.

can't you just be honest?

i am flat on my 

back

and you crush me with your version of

truth.  and hard as I try, 

I can't read

the rules that rise and set

in the pools of your 

eyes 

be honest

can't you just be honest?

for i fear that in the 

fragmented pieces of you

I will not find the 

treasures that your body

swears are true 

and now, my head is nodding to the rhythm of 

you plus me

and my foolish form reads your lies as though they were

sonnets.

be honest

can't you just be honest?

because all i really wanted was a little bit of honesty

not all of this. Again it seems 

the exchange value for a few G and T's

is still little more than lies that lie in lust.

and there is never any love to be found

in souls dampened by 

sweat drenched sheets 

and late night promises. 

Shakespeare

You sang me sonnets.
They were riddled with
Fuck you’s and
Guess who’s.
My shameless Shakespeare.

So, Swiftly, I saddled you with dreams
Of someone else’s
Tomorrows
You bore them all too willingly...

but not for long.


Such burdens are heavy, i know
and now I am on my knees. Alone.
From this angle you are twenty feet tall
still singing songs in rhyming couplets -
“come to me whole, or not at all” .


So I pack your poetry in pockets
Laughter still ringing in my ears
And seek to unload my weighted years
on more willing shoulders.

The Concert

I love you.

Inarticulately I scream it,

to an audience of silent wooden

canopies

painted haphazardly to stretch from floor to ceiling.

There was no rehearsal. My eyes follow into the expanse

lifting my voice to the limitless skies.

Notes fall from my lips in keys of minor and major mishaps.

The heavens answer,

applause that bears down on me

 in a laboured rain that mingles

with tears.

I am green like the envious oak who waited for spring

They blend with vines of ivy twisted into knots of your

Truth,

 but I cannot wait for winter’s pruning

to be undone.

I must be bothered to try

to learn melodies that make memories of you and I

just flashes of  song, words I

almost remember

or at least,

words that I remember to forget.