Sunday, 23 July 2017

The trousers which i wore

Life is full
of small treasures
little jars
filled with feathers
and flowers
and oil
topped with linen covers
From the trousers
which I wore

shredded at the hem
until my knee
right through

and they became

rags to rub the wax
into the grooves
of images
and chairs

ties to keep
small bundles
as one
the bones

salvaged and cleaned
now resting in peace

upon the sill

Friday, 14 July 2017

Today, like any other, the clouds hang low barely suspended above the hedgerow, a blackbird continues to demand justice, for what I do not know. There is not enough time in this day. I will use it wisely.
My bones have become angular, my skin leather hard and faceted like scales. I am armour plated and toughly pleated and below, beneath somewhere the feelings that were so betrayed have hardened too.
Little cacified stones of grief inching their way towards my heart.
Is this adulthood? A cynical smile twitches around my lips and no amount of sweet thinking will shift its swagger. Life  has won.
I heard a man think loudly in a crowd that he could not afford innoscence.
His heart threaded with bitterness, despising those who have the luxury of that shining indulgence.
Life has won - he did not even put up a battle.