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
Cold Floors & Warm Hands

Cold Floors & Warm Hands

Cold Floors & Warm Hands

Tea starts it all,
the early morning yawn
the hunger
subdued until, awash,
the warmth begins.
A pause on the treadmill,
these enlisted infusions,
the first of the day,
shared,
with friends,
pets, memories,
or just with silence,
it is all still to be done,
the living,
but only after
this moment’s quiet,
this friendly tea.

Posted by jason in Poetry
This Transient Confetti

This Transient Confetti

This Transient Confetti

The working week
working its way home,
as I slip through
in celebration,
my hands
absently pull and shred,
the last throes of stress.

And when it’s done,
I scatter them
for the waning sun,
my summer friend,
to catch and
turn in fading light,
then let them fall –

I feel no guilt
for this transient confetti,
left for no one
but the weekend drunks
and scrums.

Posted by jason in Poetry
Love Coat

Love Coat

Love Coat

That coat
meant for one
it’s arms always open,
encouraging, warming,
the pockets holding
scraps of tickets to work
or wrappers from comfort food.

This coat,
meant for one,
you wear to the car
three sizes too big,
to drive me to the station
and as the train pulls away
I note that, as with everything,
it looks so much better on you.

And that makes me smile.

Posted by jason in Poetry