Laughing Through Windows

31 January, 2008 at 22:37 (Uncategorized)

It was returning from the washing line,
cold pile of clothes in my arms,
that I saw you through the window, laughing.
I wondered what she’d said that had you,
throw back you head and laugh so unreservedly.
I wished I’d heard it, could have laughed too
or more likely, smiled to myself in the kitchen.
But I was descending the steps in the backyard,
feeling the cold of the wind that had dried my clothes,
when I saw that light that she draws out of you,
shining right there in my living room.
I wanted to stand there on the steps,
get out my pen and paper,
start marking out when it left you and where it began,
draw it right there
on the glass of the window in china pencil if I had to.
But my hands were full of barely dry washing,
and it was too cold to keep standing there,
watching you laugh through the windows
and as I opened the door you both quietened down,
leaving me wishing I’d stayed in the wind a little longer.

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23 January, 2008 at 15:33 (Uncategorized)

Some days I think that I imagined you,
that your story is simply my imagination run wild,
But, as I look to the grey skies,
I hope I didn’t,
my love affairs, in books,
never end up well.

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22 January, 2008 at 14:18 (Uncategorized)

Curious how we cling,
to old dreams.
In the midst of the present,
I dream of the past,
and in that past,
I predicted this future,
still though,
I cling.
I cling and I dream,
of different choices,
of simply being myself.

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Stalemate

15 January, 2008 at 13:01 (Uncategorized)

It must be real, it must be, ultimately alive,
a flowing living energy,
that dances eye to eye.
I will not play for stalemate today,
No score draws can be thrilling,
when lives are at stake,
but when played within, mundane consolidation,
they become, only a way of passsing the time.
I am wrapped in safety,
a blanket that I struggle against,
unknowingly tearing where I should hold.
I am not built for stalemate,
perhaps I am not built for the safety of
a security blanket that I pull and pull at,
until I feel that comfort of asphyxiation.
No, no playing for stalemate today,
a little time away from the chessboard,
let me know if I have truly drowned myself,
find the energies chess once provoked,
find the ability to be myself,
without ripping at every confining thing,
and enjoying the safety that comes when I may step away.

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14 January, 2008 at 19:06 (Uncategorized)

You and I, we should not plan,
But snatch moments when we can,
And if we can, then all is clear,
The night starry and the moon sincere,
If we can’t then into the dark,
We are not book-keeper or clerk,
You and I, we should not say,
This for tomorrow, this for today,
It is to the curves, the sparks they throw,
That we trust ourselves, and love to show.

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The machine Ground on

14 January, 2008 at 18:54 (Uncategorized)

It was so long after we had first become lost in the machine’s twists that I had almost forgotten it’s existence, then, as I plunged through pattern after pattern, swam through a seemingly never-ending sea of bubbles it had me. Was it long after the machine had taken us? Or did it only seem that way. I could believe that I had swam away from you yesterday or a hundred years ago. But the machine struck as I swam upwards, and I found myself pinned, a long metal claw extending from without the bubbles of gold, somewhere beyond my vision it came from.

Suddenly I wondered, had I ever been outside that old room we had found? Was I in fact pinned there, when we started the machine I had thought I knew the outcome from the old stories, had been prepared for it and now, when it seemed that I had been right I was not prepared but was suddenly cold after all the stories, after all the times when we had never actually been together but it had felt as if we ad, now I was pinned against the stone cold floor of the old room. I knew if the stories were correct then you were pinned as well besides me, waiting for the ice cold prick of the pin and the red gaze of the laser.

After all the memories we had shared in the cloud of bubbles on the day we had met I wanted to shout, to deny all the stories to claim that we had not started this that we had never met. Or maybe even that we had met, that we had spoken before the time we had entered the machine room. It was not true, we had barely exchanged a greeting before that time and now I was pinned upon the cold floor unable to see you for the gold.

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14 January, 2008 at 12:13 (Uncategorized)

Not myself and yet myself,
woken up now fully,
and I’m lost.
This isn’t where I went to sleep,
covered in a blanket of snow,
that all embracing whiteness,
that was almost warm,
the night I went to sleep,
it can’t have been that long ago – can it?
Not myself and yet myself,
woken up now, lost.
I’m woken up within the woods,
I slept a long way out of them,
and this countryside, hereabout,
it’s hilly, it’s boggy, it’s damp.
I slept on the flatlands, surrounded by mountains,
though I never to them came.
Not myself and yet myself,
lost within these boggy hills,
Someone’s left a map for me,
and theres a compass pointing onward,
but with all these footprints hereabout,
you’d think there’d be another, here.
Not myself and yet myself,
I sit in the damp as the leaves fall around
and look at the suggested directions.

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13 January, 2008 at 22:10 (Uncategorized)

Can I say then, that I am in hell,
to have and to hold everything I ever wanted,
and to crush it all
just a little before the flowers bloom,
watch the petals smeared with blood,
and see them dancing crazy in the wind,
and bleed and bleed and bleed.

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Lost

13 January, 2008 at 10:52 (Uncategorized)

Who was the woman in my skin last night?
With the voice she used, so like mine.
Who was the woman in my bed last night,
Had I simply drunk too much wine?
Who was the woman, and why was she there,
What gave her the right to waste my time?
Was she just too tired?
Was she just too hurt?
The shoes on her feet she chose to wear,
Who was that woman who wore my skin last night,
and made choices that I could not bear.
I want my night back skin switching woman,
I want my night back again.
I want my voice back, woman,
I want my trust back again.
Who were you to take my skin last night,
and talk with a voice serpentine soft,
who were you to push me away from my skin,
when everything was right and everything was light
and everything had it’s place and was not lost.

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11 January, 2008 at 12:42 (Uncategorized)

I wasn’t even supposed to be here today,
and yet, it was you who said yes,
when the question of overtime was raised.
Your harsh voice who criticises them when they dare to complain,
about the choices they have made,
the same you will again.
You are here again today,
and it’s not a question of safety when you run,
just your own ill equipped nature,
that even considers,
doing a little more overtime
rather than getting free.

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