Simples

So there’s this girl,
right,
as there often is.
And she puts a certain
spring into my step

like when you know
that if things keep going
the way they’ve been going
you might end up
doing something
you most definitely
will regret.

But what the hell,
life is short right?
And if not, then at least
I have some time to make
amends. So I’ll make my
mistakes now and
learn from them.

Besides,
when she smiles
all I can think of
is her.

Orion’s Belt

You had three dark spots
in a line
down your back,
more or less in line
with your gently curving spine.

Your very own Orion’s belt
you used to call it.
Each one of us,
you would say,
has our own constellation,
we have but to find it.

I didn’t care for it much,
I have to say,
but I liked the way
the corners of your mouth
turned up when you frowned,
so I stayed quiet.

But now,
when I look up to the night sky,
I find myself tracing you out,
amongst the stars.

Protected: Haiku for Sally

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Açores

Oh you dark,
mysterious women
hiding secrets and smiles
and knives
behind deep brown eyes
and long hair like time lost.

How easy it would be
to ask you to dance
or offer you a drink
if not for all the walls.

Walls of volcanised rock
that line the coasts
of San Miguel and Terceira,
in whose dangerous waters
you move like beautiful fish.

If only you knew
the trouble taken
to ease over to your
sullen tempting forms
and inform
Você capturou meu coração

The Future in Your Arms

When you’re lying
alone in bed
at night,
are you thinking about
you?

No?

Because
I am.

And I’m thinking about
hair on pillows
and singing in the bath.
I’m thinking of lip marks
left on glasses and about
our toothbrushes together
in a glass, bristles
wet and touching.

And I’m thinking about house prices
and shared investment.
I’m thinking about
holding your hand at my father’s funeral.
How, when you’re away
I’ll miss you,
and how I’ll make a fuss
about lending you my clothes.

I’m thinking
how, right now,
I want to be the person
that you keep clean for
and the future
in your gentle charms.

Stilled times and speeding trains.

Rushing backwards to you,
hundreds of miles of hours.
Through the greyed glass
all the clouds are layered
and distinct,
hiding the sky.

The people in their
oddly shaped houses,
their oddly shaped faces
looking not seeing.

This time is so tasteless
and bland, all those neutral
colours and corners.
Where are your subtle textures,
the slight minty coolness of your lips,
the warmth of your breast?

There, There Elliott

A pair of walking scissors,
razor point,
needle sharp,
sharp as nails,
hard as a fox.
These things could cut
diamond edges.
So they made light work of the living leather
upon which they chose to stroll.
But soon their evening constitutional,
for it was in the night,
these things are always in the night,
turned to a paddle
to a swim
to a dive
but lacking the will
and the little ships, all red and white, being too small to carry them
the twin mirrors, bolted lovers, plunged too deep.
No need to go down a third time they sank
and drowned themselves in blood
and never came back up
until, hours later, the paramedics arrived.
But by then
it was too late.

When words have no effect.

This is a view of you in your dark green glasses
from the little photographic plate
inside my head.
Your tight freckles
humming along,
and your short hair
that I stupidly felt the need to explain.

You’re a painter and a poet
and better than me
and I don’t blame you.
I deserve this empty house
I’m sure.

But the more I look at this little globe
and the long, dark, slick expanse
of the wet courtyard in front of me
the more I feel my distance from you.
I’ve never missed someone’s hands more.

If it weren’t raining so hard
in the small green overgrown garden out my window
I’d go outside
and hang my heart out on a rose bush to dry,
because if you looked you’d see
that it’s raining pretty heavily
in here too.

Joy!

I just discovered
Billy Collins.

Love love love.

Check out ‘Poems Favoured’ to see what I mean.

limits. comforts.

I can see nothing more than the girl.

She sits.
cross-legged.
reading.
brow furrowed.
long hair hanging down.

she wears long sleeves.
which she pulls over her hands.
to keep them warm.
the allusion of safety.

i can tell she is a girl:
the delicacy of her fingers.
the sallow pink of her nails.
the scent.

and so i see her.
sitting.
reading.
breathing.
whether or not she feels, i do not know.

i have not read her book.

she is all i can see.
beyond her,
who knows?