Where Eloquence Tries

i)

Mirror: you look at me so pale, so white mistress to your own indiscretions just as translucent as each new moon

porcelain girl you break and resuscitate brittle bones are calcium so you chalk it up and speak dynamic truths

words are vials topped with vitamins swallow them whole they churn in your stomach a husk filled with formulas to keep you going

still, acid burns in your throat - oh healthy girl how you twist, how you turn how you lie, lie, lie

don’t speak now: instead choke (like a supernova - you obliterate) learn to dispel those myths for it is you who can afford this pulverisation

remember - you are coral; bright and brilliant cut through me to the core now smattered in blood it crumbles away to reveal a seed still dormant

all excess drips from your teeth and they salivate

my flesh becomes extraneous like sea kelp draped on molluscs and strewn across the coast of your mind battered and limp;

sinking to the floor withdrawing to another new depth - no-one here is driftwood

still - antibiosis is my foundation: and they all eat from me while I dream of resurgence

ii)

Mirror: I look at you as I look to the endless, starless night you turn away as I disown my former body

equilibrate myself with the world I am divided in two; reflection and being a Manichean personality

empty out the shell once more reform a shoreline, an image like a new tide or oceanic peril

Maybe there were no words exclusively true for today.

Sometimes introspection is not a revolution or an epiphany, but just a quiet space. Maybe we forget this, we think that to be within we must be trying to understand - or trying to innovate. I think that sometimes we are just asking for solitude, we are asking only to hear birds and see bumble bees and feel morning sunshine on our shoulders, on our cheeks. To see light in an overgrown field and feel bewildered and contented, too.

The quietness is not always in our observations, either. The quietness is just there.

In introspection we seek stillness. This is what today means to me - the transience of daylight slips away, all the while this feeling may stay.

Spring said to winter - “Come here and let me hold your heart”

In bloom cosmos and chaos collide - now I am in love, too.

“Be careful with me” - I say -

and the breeze is a memory akin to touch.

Shaking Paper

Your memory you think,

sedates a slow motion mind

decreases the crackle of a radio attuned to twenty-four hour news

playing in fast cars city streets, libraries and elevators locked and too small

always on the up -

You can’t breathe

consumed by the world

you buy once, sold again

and you ache from consistency -

some thoughts steal away all that is raw -

and words return these incantations of feeling

now changed to an oath,

Cosmos -

my friends orbit collide, explode

my friends are alight, burn quickly

contained in fast cars - airplanes - distance, proximity

petrol, rainbow on pavement pearls - in the rain

match to flame

we walk places to force the universe into slow motion

meandering, we travel back -

my friends are aligned - retrograde connection

hold my hand when I cross the street

19 -

dream-pop and jazz electrify me

lightning in the dark

I have false memories of lavender and pine

crisp moments and starry nights

taste sea-salt in the air

long for cinnamon kisses

~

spilling into myself accolades for poetry

a mind in film – sepia, pastel black and white

~

bubbly wine and lemonade

porcelain bones burnt and bruised skin

~

Start again –

I am sinew like these avenues

hands run down a spine fingers find a pulse

but I am not fleeting, erratic nor impulsive rushed and fading

and only measurable by my absence.

I am the centre – I am the periphery –

This is the world and I talk to the people in it.

You – a momentary affliction

a stranger

traverse these streets by cutting corners – cheating the map like this is your territory.

Ruptured veins give a chill in the alleyway a bullet in the lungs missing the heart

but sink in the mind like a stone dropped in a river – bleed to an ocean unexplored.

Disintegrate, at the horizon – a skeleton without flesh,

through smoke or an old flame –

red overpowers blue in the midst of reflection.

These bones become ash and dust – a sunrise.

Start again –

we don’t know each other, we don’t talk.

I see the world,

In unbecoming myself I have reckoned with a desert land and a bitter apple.

I have dwelled in a sand-storm, bolstered through heat and heart and words unspoken.

The barren land of my body like a sign of knowledge,

once sweet – always decaying.

Now grit my teeth that catch spite and soured longing.

Before the water ran dry

we were consciences saturated, sure of all love –

more complete than adoration,

more consistent than something unrequited.

Tangerine sky

beneath, I write with dread –

a skyline fades.

I remember landscapes outside of you –

(youth that you were, supple, nuanced, brutish with the fleeting –

age like penance for carelessness)

fertile in their growth, accustomed to their own seasons.

A body, a world, a certainty.

And yet in unbecoming this girl of sayings,

I see the fault of a woman is her fictitious nature –

alluding to what she may become;

a floury apple,

a speck of glass – glint in the memory of silt.

Helpless, to a hand that chokes a voice only in an attempt to grasp –

the evasion (of herself).

The fence around the world holds seven-billion visceral Gods

coagulated upon the wound of a farsical transcending hope.

The last limit of human salvation,

thinned by an analgesic rush

divine because gravity and pain underly the pulse and pause of all being –

“don’t stand too close to the edge – you might fall”

and in the plummet is deliverance – is nihility – is carte blanche –

is death.

The new Gods can’t fly

The ocean was incandescent – somewhat reminiscent of you the boy who looked like midnight. Waned beneath the moon and disappeared with what was new – pity, for I had found a light in you. Water and electricity – all that remains is a shoreline and a streetlight combine the two in the hope to galvanise you. An irony to forge the feeling of electricity when you have only ever been a power-out – and…

You (constructed)

Hold still, this is all a very delicate and calming dream – don’t stir –  otherwise it will all just slip away – now tell yourself that you had love, kid. – Now spring is on the cusp of bloom flowers will find the light – but that is not enough. Growth and warmth are only the disguise that will fall again by Winter. – This is the reprise of a plasticine world – constructed through damage and…

Hello, 

This is a link to a blog I have recently started in the last 2-3 weeks. It is still in its very early stages but if any of you are interested in having a look around it would be lovely to have some input. 

Mostly it includes poems and cooking, but gradually will grow to be more cohesive and holistic. It is called The Suburban Mythology because it is the simple daydreams and almost conversations of the every day. A world consumed by ideas. 

Thank you to anyone who has read anything at all of mine thus far too!