Month: November 2011

Overstretched

Overstretched

Overstretched

I brought the bough;
within the sand it lay
and whilst the moon lit us
I wondered whether it may catch aflame…
Sand in toes,
not as soft as you may hope
yet as we spoke
I brushed them clean,
and laughed at washed up
drunk brown bottles…
My lungs breathed so deep
it was as if
they were overstretched.

Posted by jason in Poetry
Brownian Emotions

Brownian Emotions

Brownian Emotions

The rain plays with
subtle drops
above distracted minds;
the cars pass close
the windows up
the onlookers; out-lookers
refocusing in-between each swish
swish.
No children half wearing rain coats,
stepping over cracks,
to break their bubble,
holidays have kept them inside
leaving just the walkers,
quiet, not so quiet.

Work is forward,
homes behind,
but here in the middle
anything can happen.
Particles,
a few hundred million,
bustling, jiggling,
Brownian emotions,
waiting for the first move,
whose move?
I pass before the resolution,
the swish of the wipers
wiping their image,
maybe it was nothing,
maybe it’s just the rain
on the window…

Posted by jason in Poetry
Split Seconds

Split Seconds

Split Seconds

If I were a thief, I think
I’d steal your heart
keep it in a pearl
hung from a chain,
and wear it all the day.

If I were a thief, I think
we’d have stood a chance,
but as I stand here now,
I open stupid hands
and let you fall.

Posted by jason in Poetry
Four Hours Sleep

Four Hours Sleep

Four Hours Sleep

four hours sleep
still too much
eyes heavy for the morning
hear the house slowly stretch
foundations start to change
from the bed,
the lights still growing,
ceiling faces seem to smile,
four hours sleep
and beside me
miraculously
she’s still there.

Posted by jason in Poetry
Hearts in the Sky

Hearts in the Sky

Hearts in the Sky

I threw her my heart,
just threw it hard as I could,
and like a lantern
caught in the breeze,
it was taken away.

This heart, no longer mine,
up in the air
noticeable,
yet not so noticeable.
And the days,
sometimes they took it far away,
and others nearer than I dared to think,
or look;
or let myself imagine.

Look up,
there are hearts in the sky all the time…

Then one stormy night,
I told her what I’d done
so she wouldn’t be afraid,
should she look up,
see it silhouetted in the moon.

And for the longest time I thought it lost,
a dream, a silly dream,
and I acted so;
acted so it hurt;
so it hurt to smile.

But love is a funny thing,
a powerful, funny thing,
that one day isn’t there,
and one day is,
like a lantern in the sky.
And have you ever heard the story,
of the girl who dared look up
lift her arms, and
like a fairytale
hold a heart so close?

Let me whisper this…

If hearts are to be caught,
they have to be thrown,
thrown as hard and fast as they can,
and if this is done, if they catch on chaotic winds,
they stand the smallest chance
the slightest chance.

But, of course, this smallest,
slightest chance,
is sometimes all they need.

Posted by jason in Poetry
Three Studies

Three Studies

Three Studies

#1
colours high,
if thoughts were clouds
there’d be a rainbow,
smile on one side
tears against it

#2
non-expression;
a candle’s beauty
is in its silence,
but the glow above
itself destroys

#3
dance the words
on subverted senses
keep them busy
the smitten’s complex
distraction

Posted by jason in Poetry
Junk Fields

Junk Fields

Junk Fields

This open space,
filled with junk
we rejected in the long run,
rotting, rusting,
decomposing,
never gone.

Never gone.

Posted by jason in Poetry
Remembered

Remembered

Remembered

All quiet now,
the morning rush gone,
lost, forgotten,
the debris
listless or drowned,
tells us nothing,
just waits to be collected,
buried.

Moments of lives,
lives full of moments,
this is where we cannot live,
memories fade,
within these last of places,
lost,
yet so desperately
doggedly,
remembered.

Posted by jason in Poetry
She Laughs Herself Awake

She Laughs Herself Awake

She Laughs Herself Awake

She laughs herself awake,
at an hour disrespectful,
the beauty in her bed of dreams and unknown solace.
There’s a stillness in the house,
and what she doesn’t realise
is the stillness comes from her.

The day, yet to play its part,
languors insolent before the rise,
nothing more than a passing car to heed its dawn.
And I wait with happiness
a pause upon my pressured lips,
I wait for her first awakened smile.

Posted by jason in Poetry