I see

I see right through you

and into your wild madness

like a transparent teardrop

a bubble that bursts and dissipates

trickling down my leg

and into the ground

drying up in the sun

an anticlimax, all but forgotten.

Nightmare

I dreamt of two thick red devils

with grotesque heads

who were at the edge of hell

one was eating a baby

the others throbbing penis

dragging on the ground

they were babbling to one another

I knew I was in hell

I was so sad

I did not know what to do

I was being tortured for my sins.

Still here

Love is still here for you

as I light a candle

in front

of your photo

I remember how your grandson and I

smothered you with hugs and kisses

the last time we said goodbye

Our love for you remains

here suspended in the air

you are intertwined in these

three words.

Tangled

Sometimes I get tangled up with everyday life.

One fine, straight cotton thread becomes entwined

around my family, work, children and economic situation.

Once it was easy to thread a needle and get to work as I please

now the loop is twisted and turned upon itself around others

and then back to me.

The more I try to pull away from it the tighter it becomes.

Like those poor sea lions and marine animals caught up in plastic

fishing lines cutting into their own skin

around mouths, restricting movement until they starve to death

Could I cut myself out?

What would be left of me?

The thread is cutting off chunks of flesh

surely there won't be much of myself left

the tangle is too tight to be unthread.

Nobility

Vagrant dressed in dark rags

he walks with his dead limbs against his side,

his face shrouded by unexpressed suffering.

What woes has he seen?

To make him become this sketch of a man.

He takes off his crown and kisses the ground

no one sees him but me

no one to call him mad,

his boots heavy, shuffle upon his holy land

he walks towards the infinite sea his dark face glaring blankly

acting out a pagan salute to the gods of the earth

his rite of passage before departure.

Confession

I confess I am lost

without hope

free falling through life

doing enough to barely

keep breathing

is that enough?

To live with each breathe

holding onto this existence

through inhaling and exhaling

in the most basic of actions,

hoping death doesn’t come

filling the lungs with air and

expelling carbon dioxide.

It seems so little a thing to do

when a new plague

robs people of this

simple action

taking their lives

by taking away

the abililty to breathe.

Be as a child

I want to be like a child

in awe of the world around me

generous with love and affection

accepting of change, always

growing and learning.

I want to always expect the best

and even if it doesn't happen

simply continue to hope

get back up and move through

life with a  naive energy

which keeps you moving

in a mixture of creativity,

curiosity and determination.

Children are so flexible

they are like a cup filling

and overflowing with water

A piece of magic

when the world seems dark

be like a child

live with hope

and endless faith.

About grief

I know a little bit about grief.

It's the moment you realise

you cannot go back on your own steps

you can't make it better

or say I love you again

 see someone's face every day,

hear their laugh, trace the outline of their smile,

hold their hand or give them a hug.

When you learn what it feels like to run out of time.

No more silent pauses in conversations

seeing them across the table,

passing the salad bowl at dinner.

All of those moments you take for granted

stop in your mind,

they are gathered up in memories

and the grieving begins.

I've learnt grief isn't bad,

it's all we have, really,

for our tears are our love

which used to go out

towards those we love.

After they are gone it has nowhere to go,

so our unexpressed love

becomes our grief.

And as our passion is as undying,

as our mourning.

This will never leave

not until our dying days.

It may seem ironic

but I hope we never

stop grieving

because it keeps our

dearly departed near us.

Life doesn't stop

when someone dies,

it merely shifts

and changes into another

gear and somehow

we live with it.

Affirmations

I don’t care what other people think of me because I’m intelligent, empathetic, sensitive, creative, reflective, and worthy.

I’m willing to take up space, contribute, make something new and create worthy connections in the world.

I’m here to seek knowledge and understanding, listen and see different points of view.

I want to be a kind ear, an encouraging and reassuring voice for others.

I’m growing every day, making mistakes and stumbling along, always moving forward and looking to become a better person.

I can change my mind and opinions because life is about evolving and living this moment at its greatest potential.

Dream of Blue

I dreamt of blue

a deep dark Russian blue

I painted with my blue 

and it made me feel like 

I was swimming in the sea.

Usually, I’m frightened when I

see this deepness in the ocean

as soon as I see the change

in the underwater light

so dark as to hide the seafloor

I panic and flee back to shore

anything can be hiding in the depths.

It terrifies me.

But inside of my dark blue

I am safe, fascinated by its

possibility and swaddled

inside the murky beauty.

Two poems dedicated to opera

On Hearing Verdi’s Requiem

Fragile beauty gives way to pulsating fluctuations

enigmatic expressions of epic grief

Such is the end of an era of beauty

that surrenders to the ravages of time

To live again in each performance

trumpeted scenes of past grandeur

The bass-baritone undertone of the sinister

single beating echoes in the caves of darkness

Soprano sketching out expansive emotion

 she holds each note in the flux of heaven

Chorus connects to human consciousness

humming the grieving  reaction to a death

As the punctured skin bleeds

so too does the wounded soul sigh

and in these sighs, one hears music.

On hearing him play: An ode to musicianship

(Dedicated to T.P)

Steinway voluptuousness

poised seductively upon the stage

Spotlit footsteps disrupt the moment of admiration

pages turn to the beginning

the anticipation felt as musical inspiration is inhaled

beauteous voice exhaled

Seeing him play

beholding a dreamer’s dream

voyeuristic fantasy

he is not here

he has stolen the moment to share

with his beloved, Music

in an intimate embrace

Hearing him play

flawless interpretation boldly resonates

how could each note echo a heartbeat?

lest it is from the one heart

as familiar voice whispers

sensuous secrets to delight

each nuance fully expressed

Remembering the moment

emotions evoked

the inner pool stirred with each finger

stillness rippled by the dimensions of emotion

the body recalls

visceral performance

shaped by the hands of an artist.

Connection

We only have these moments

tiny connections

to hold onto

as life slips through our fingers.

My poetry

My poetry is a constant whisper in my ear

a dark, haunting and persistent dream

my inner voice leaking out of my head

a constant weeping emotion

which is eerie, untamed and real

it is always uncomfortable

to share as the words come from an awkward place

yet they feel beautiful just the same

They are like little deformities

which express a deep insecurity

unpleasing to the eye

yet satisfying for the soul.

I coax them out of me like untamed wild animals

I watch as they slowly show me their savage power

I am always in awe of the epicness of human emotion

And how it can consume itself.

Death's garden

Stock image from Unsplash

The idea came to commemorate my dearest ancestors

by planting them a garden.

Lavander sprigs for stillborn Estella.

Delicate violets from Nonna’s garden.

An all-enveloping ivy that covers and embraces

everything for Nonno.

Daddy would be an aubergine flower as that's

what he left for us in his garden.

Mum will be an exotic caper flower after she is gone.

I will plant them on my skin,

they will slowly grow up my arm

and cover my body in death's garden.

Added to with every loss

I choose a new plant to sow

for my family and friends

and add to the artwork

with each ghost.

Death's love affair

Death loves us deeply

like a child gathering flowers

and leaving them to dry in the sun

He cannot resist the beauty

of our immortal souls

which shimmer and glow

before his eyes

He loves the warmth which comes

from our hearts, the energy

which emanates from our lives

he is infatuated.

What love death has for us

he cannot stop himself

from touching and caressing

with every touch

he takes a piece of us

slowly stealing our lives

His gentle embrace is a lover

trying to possess his love

he makes fear disappear

overcome by a passion

deeper than ourselves

we are helpless

despite life’s distractions

we surrender to

the love affair

of death.

This poem is from the poetry collection zine Trinacria Poems currently available on Amazon