last tuesday club

"She believed the world had begun last Tuesday. January the twelfth, to be precise. When I asked her how she came up with the idea, she just shrugged, before looking at me as though it were obvious." – Charlotte Amelia Poe.

Month: September, 2016

Ella

ellabw.jpg

eulogy

i died, and nobody noticed
i picked out a tombstone
and a small patch of earth
a rectangle of dirt
ready to reclaim me

i died, and nobody noticed
i picked out a funeral suit
and made up invitations
embossed on recycled card
the last poem i would write

i died, and nobody noticed
i rested beside the roots of a tree
feeling the soil calling to me
the autumn leaves crisp against bare feet
they buried me with dirty fingernails

i died, and nobody noticed
a small jukebox skipped its way through ‘hallelujah’
and i sung along even though they didn’t hear
and i thought of all the chords i knew
and wondered which one david played

i died, and nobody noticed
i was the ash on your tongue
the dust in your eyes
your face contorted
and you did not cry

i died, and nobody noticed
which is why, i think
it makes it so easy
to push through the oak of the lid
and step into the moonlight,
a small whisper of a ghost

it has rained since i was gone.

battle borne

you can’t ask me
to apologise
for empathy –
i refuse to.
whilst i
lost
the battle
the war rages on
and i know that
someday
it will be
the most valuable
of weapons.

sacred

woods.jpg

nandi

there is a word:
beamish
it means:
bright, cheerful, and optimistic
but in my head it is sunshine yellow
and the brightest of smiles
it is folded notes
and bad skype connections
it is the certain knowledge
that –
one day –
i will see you laugh
whilst standing right beside you.

keaton

look what you’ve done
with ink stained fingers
and smudged out drawings
with scribbled over faces
and hushed voices
you are younger than you seem
and hold inside yourself a universe
i wish i could see
darling one,
you are so in love with the world
that you let it scar scratch burn you
and you’ll stand like a willow tree
your head bent to the floor
begging forgiveness for not being enough
and i will reach out
for calloused fingers
and tell you, soft soul
that you have done enough
and that your pages are plenty
and i want to live in your words.

vulpes vulpes

there is
a fox
screaming at
the moon –
in my room
i can feel
its loss.