Free

The king is dead

The courtiers fled

The soldiers bled

For a loaf of bread

The maid it fed

Now makes his bed

And in her head

Wakes a foreign dread

These bars of steel

Sheer walls of stone

Have echoed forth

Many thoughts unknown

Cut through the cracks

New sun has shone

That light is mine

And mine alone

I am a beast

Of heart and bone

A hungry seed

In desert sown

When towering weeds

Had overgrown

I wrung their necks

To forge a throne

A summer sung

Among my own

The bird remains

The nest has flown

For them that see

Past the canopy

Waits a misery

You must agree

You will decree

The swelling sea

Her sunken tree

Ever home to me

When in that boil

I choose to be

Am I then caged?

Pray, are you free?

Tungsten

She's a young summer and a bright winter and the breeze that flows between. She's a candy floss will and a molten heart. She's a firefly.

She’s a short burst of hard laughter, the rock lead in a jazz ballad. She has aces in her eyes and a story up her sleeve. She is hard talk and small talk and no talk at all. She's a long night at a packed bar, a short flight next morning. She’s a welcome contradiction.

She’s soft cheer and sure grace. She pulls off a gown and a frown with the easiest of ease. She sways to no music, makes you swoon to her tune, she swings like no one’s watching. She dresses up and dresses down, and stuns you every time. She sports mascara but never a mask. She wears no airs.

She’s the darkest heaven and the brightest hell. She flits through time, without a thing to prove, like warm poetry on a trapeze. She leads firms, and lays terms, and takes what’s coming to her. She runs the show. She runs as deep as still waters go. She should run for president.

She’ll sting you with her honesty and nurse you with her presence. She knows no compulsion and only says what she means. She’ll flood you with answers and still leave you guessing. She walks like a tiger and runs like a child. She's pure fire and raw rain, her mind holds no regret. She’s the flicker of the filament of a bright yellow bulb. She is tungsten.

The End

At the end of this life, you will have laughed and loved, hurt and hated, fought and failed, won and waited. You will have tried and tested, cried and coped, dreamt, denied, helped and hoped. You will be learned and lonesome, wistful and wise, calm and clueless, it'll show in your eyes. You will have been anxious and affectionate, firm and furious, interesting, insecure, conscientious, curious. You will be a lot and a little you won't, you will have taken far more than you thought you could give, you will be tired but find yourself grateful, for every day you were lucky enough to live.

Ordinary

You are a waster of time
A taker of space
You are a thinker of things
A forgetter of names

You are older than yesterday
Younger than tomorrow
Taller than your standing
Smaller than your ego

You are a maker of sound
A crasher of gates
You are a flipper of coins
A feeler of pain

You are harder than cloth
Heavier than light
Better than your worst
Faster than your stride

You are a soaker of sun
A watcher of waves
You are a breather of air
A catcher of rain

You are this and that
You are one or another

The only thing you are not, however,
Is ordinary

Yes

It was quite simple, really.

If you said ‘Yes’, I’d take your dog on a walk so you could sneak in an hour of sleep,
and get back in time to watch the sight of your eyes adjusting to the light as the first
sip of freshly brewed tea kissed your lips. I’d make you breakfast.

If you said ‘Yes’, I’d ride you to work, buy you a croissant to go, even though
I secretly know you prefer muffins but are watching your sugar intake. I’d pick up
your dry cleaning, I’d offer to drop you home and hang on to every word
you said along the way.

I’d like every status update you put up just to let you know I read it. I’d make you
put up status updates just so I could like them.

I’d cover your head when it rained, wrap my jacket around you when it was cold,
hold your hand when we crossed the street, hold your hand as we weaved through
a crowd, hold your hand for no reason whatsoever and squeeze it gently
before letting go.

I’d take you to exhibitions, plays, films, festivals, concerts and carnivals.
I’d probably take you shopping. No, I would take you shopping.

I’d stay by your side when you were sick, make sure you took your medication
on time, never on an empty stomach, and take you to the doctor
if your condition worsened. I’d nurse you back to health even though it meant
I could fall ill the moment you recovered.

I’d write you a poem and ten songs to go with it. I’d sing you those songs
on days you needed to be told how beautiful you are. 

If you said ‘Yes’, I’d revel in your success, brush away your failures, push you
to try harder and give you a million reasons to refrain from entertaining the thought
of giving up. I’d be a partner to your crimes, an audience to your expression,
and the wall you often crave between you and the world.  

If you said ‘Yes’, I would do all of this and so much more, in the right amount
of moderation, so you never felt you owed me anything but always had just cause
to light up that smile. I would write a thesis about that smile.

But, you never said ‘Yes’. 

Because, I never asked.

Home

Every person is a place. Some are bus-stops, others coffee shops. Some dark alleys, others sun-kissed beaches. Every day, we shuttle in and out and around music stores, art galleries, libraries, restaurants, broadcast stations, cinema theatres, photo studios, motorcycle workshops, football academies, lofty bars with empty stools, ATMs without withdrawal limits, employment exchanges and technology hubs erected in skin and bone. Long, short, under construction, under repair, broken, one-way, two-way or toll-free, there are many roads to the same place. And, some of them aren’t places at all. They are bridges we must cross to get somewhere new. Or tunnels we must emerge from to keep our purpose true. We spend each day traveling from person to person. And when we’ve spent many hours wandering, discovering, visiting, frequenting and deserting life’s many venues, some of us just want to go home.

213 (for 2013)

Life is one

Jump the gun
Finish the run

Play the cool
Stretch a rule

Tame a star
Raid the bar

Lend a hand
Claim your land

Shatter a notion
Conquer an ocean

Free a desire
Fan the fire

Wear the rain
Stir and strain

Never say die
Confess a lie

Write a song
Right a wrong

Stretch a goal
Study your soul

Make ends meet
Smile and greet

Get caught up
Adopt a pup

Pass a smoke
Master a stroke

Waste some time
Prevent a crime

Grow new thought
Forgive the lot

Flee the nest
Stop and rest

Wake at dawn
Move the pawn

Touch a cloud
Shout out loud

Earn a friend
Skip the bend 

Knock on wood
Stand for good

Toe the line
Follow the sign

Scratch an itch
Get fucking rich

Trip the wheel
Hurt and heal

Scale a gate
Cheat your fate

Age like wine
Say ‘I’m fine’

Ride the train
Pull the chain

Hold your nerve
Bell the curve

Learn to fend
Predict the end

Take by storm
Keep love warm

Fight a tear
Shift a gear

Turn the key
Hug a tree

Pick your mark
Build an ark

Raise a stink
Spill a drink

Break a sweat
Lose a bet

Do till done
Life is one

Come

Come. Come from your bright yellow lights and half-remembered nights.
Come from the emptiness that fills your window sill as you struggle
for a frame of thought that will keep you still. Come from a long day’s work,
from a hard day’s work, from all work and no play, from all work and no pay.
Come from no work at all.

Come from the dream you had last night, from the hopes
you’ve carried through sleep. Come from heartache, heartbreak, from a place
where you’ve given more than you can take. Come from being cared for
and having none. Come from sunshine, and red wine in glasses that never run dry.
Come from laughter and abandon and recklessness and surrender.
Come from rebellion.

Come from your intimidations, from your fears, from the worldly wisdom
you can’t unlearn. Come from hate and passion and pride and misgiving.
Come from a difference of opinion. Come from your relationships, your upbringing,
your scratchy beginnings and patchy acquaintances. Come from your expectations,
from birthdays and surprises, from red ribbons and pink lace, from long hours
in front of the mirror, from a few words and many faces.

Come from the roads you've left behind, from dark alleys and white corridors.
from burnt pages and broken bridges. Come from a full life, from a life well fought,
from contention, from little joys in little things, from big smiles for little reason.
Come from the TV shows, from late-night cinema, the smell of snow,
that song in your head that won’t let go. Come from history, from the renaissance,
from the countries you've seen and the events you will.

Come from the daily news, that book you must to get back to,
your boardroom scribbles, the attention you can’t afford to spare, the coffee
you sip by the sidewalk as it rains, those pretty shoes you never wear.
Come from birds in the trees and kittens and ketchup and lakes and rainbows
and orchids and bicycles and architecture and every romance you acquire
as you flit through routine. Come from your photographs of birds in the trees
and kittens and ketchup and lakes and rainbows and orchids and bicycles
and architecture and every romance you acquire as you flit through routine.

Come from the things you are, the things you do. Come from yourself, from company.
Come from a moment ago. Come from thin air. Come. Let us walk.

Aerodynamics

The ground staff have just made their exit and I’m sure the last thing on your mind

is a whimsical pen at play. Down the aisle I see you, a tail of hair, an odd elbow

if I’m lucky. I remember when I saw you first, moments ago at the door, 

as I streamed in alongside an anxious flurry of veterans and virgins. 

You must have mouthed the customary ‘Good evening.’ 

or ‘Welcome aboard.’ or ‘How are you?’ It doesn’t matter.

I don’t remember. It wasn’t your words that made those split-seconds

worth another visit. Was it the cheeky half-grin accompanying them?

The cabin in-charge for the day, Nancy she calls herself, holds the receiver to her lips

as she rattles off a well-rehearsed safety briefing. I look up. A seat belt has never assumed such inviting proportions. As your hands make their way through oxygen mask and life-jacket, twice over, I wonder why I’d never paid attention

to these things before. We’re about to take off when you prance

around with a bag, frantically seeking a generous overhead bin.

It isn’t until you’ve tried at least seven that you find one offering just enough, above me.

I inhale. Your aroma is as strong as it is invigorating. An inaudible sigh escapes within.

I watch you and turn away, smiling without cause or concern. The flight is sprinkled

with cursory interaction and your unintentional brushing of my arm in your stride. 

The air is made pleasant by good air conditioning working in tandem with your gentle presence. Meanwhile, Nancy unconsciously wages a desperate war to seize

my attention. Another day, and she’d have had more than her share. So I twist,

and stretch, consider sleep, then shut the thought, and all the while your nimble feet

walk past mine at intervals so regular, it makes me think you’ve caught

a whiff of my devotion. I can only wish my words will mean something to you.

I haven’t really done this before. Then again, I haven’t really come across

someone quite as alluring at similar cruising altitudes.

Your charms are immense. You make me delight in a sandwich

I would have never picked off a menu. I observe many a pair of eyes

shadowing your every move, and as we head into another bout of turbulence,

I take my chance with telepathy.

Hello. I assume you must be content having my mind at your disposal since

the time I stepped into your aerial kingdom. It isn’t easy sitting where I sit,

watching you go about your routine while the desire to converse with you

eats me from within. But, I won’t act on this impulse. I won’t badger you

with the likes of ‘A bottle of water, please.’ and ‘Do you have today’s paper?’

I won’t even give you the opportunity to ask me to set my seat-back upright

or close my tray table. I won’t unbuckle my seat belt, even when the sign is off,

or bother to find out what the rest of your crew looks like. I’ll stay awake

and silence the urge to count sheep, no matter how drowsy the aerated beverage

I bought from you makes me. I won’t mull over my existence

before and after this journey. I won’t stare, I won’t swear. I’ll stay put in my seat,

much to the dismay of the passengers beside me, till I hear the aerobridge

is in place. I’ll smile often, laugh a little and savour the purple sky

illuminated by the cries of two infants, both blissfully unaware of this brief mention.

I’ll return your grin when I disembark. No words will be spoken.

You won’t know of this letter. But, that’s alright.

You’ve had me for over two hours and forty minutes.