Falling Leaves

We used to laugh,
But that was long ago.
I miss your smile,
So I try to crack a joke,
You’ve always were,
Good at turning to stone.

This street corner,
Is getting kind of cold.
Autumn’s here again,
This time around I am alone.
I can tell,
You just want to go home.

Falling leaves are letting go.
Falling leaves,
Are letting,
Go.

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The Parting Gift

You gave me this guitar,
As a parting gift,
Then you pushed out the raft,
And cast me a drift.

Your memory is a hymn,
Now I’m lost out to sea,
With just these six strings,
To remind me.

Which way is my way,
Cause I can’t read the stars,
Back to welcoming bay,
Of your harbour arms.

Not Even Cake

The blood in my heart must have left for my cheeks, because I got my colour back but I felt empty. I expected a deep yearning, that burning tight feeling you get on the left side of your chest from time to time, when the face of the one you lost appears before your mind’s eye. Sometimes the visage arises like smoke from an extinguished candle, wafting in unnoticed at first and suddenly surrounding all of your senses. Other times the familiar smile, the certain look in the eye seems to come hurtling at you like a canon ball, full-force. But either way, his features mustered no more than a muted flicker of melancholy inside my chest, except for on rare occasions when I came across an old photograph which captured a kiss, or some song of significance fell uninvitedly upon my ears.

No, mostly I felt an empty space where heartbreak should be. You’d think that nothingness would be preferable to the pain of torn cardiovascular muscles, but in fact it brings with it its own kind of hell. There are no tears to let trickle hot and tickly down reddened cheeks, no hard, convulsing sobs into a pillow, I could find no release for the misery that I found myself in. Where does one obtain catharsis for a pain that can’t be healed because it refuses to show itself? What sudden cowardice of emotion had I acquired? I found myself static, usually prostrate, staring blankly into the white canvas of the ceiling above me, what I was looking for I don’t know. Sometimes thoughts whirred in chaos and without apparent providence, other times it was as though I had no brain inside my skull at all. At any rate, my physicality became unmovable, solid and heavy as the bed I laid upon, arms like lead, without an ounce of life inside me.

And though at first it might sound laughable, I only realised that my current situation had become so dire when the thought of the cake sat in the fridge not twenty feet away from me wasn’t enough to wake me from my corpse-like state. “Not even cake” I heard myself whisper. Not even cake. They would not go down in history as words of great profundity. And suddenly seeing myself from outside of myself, I watched this sorry mess who laid mumbling to herself and I felt an unexpected irritation stir at my being so unpoetic. I felt awakened. But it was not the fact that I did not want the cake that has roused me from my deadened state but the ridiculousness of the sentence I had just uttered. And then, quite abruptly and at once the irritation evaporated along with the overwhelming sense of nothingness and I felt the muscles in my face tighten as I began to laugh from the sheer absurdity of the picture I had just created. And then at last I cried.

The River Wensum

The Wensum river,
A thing of wonder,
Hither, tither,
My soul asunder.

In dusk-light beauty,
That burns like fire,
And strikes a duty,
To admire.

To shake the mind,
From trivial sway,
And be unblind,
By nature’s way.

And be un-deafened,
By silent scapes,
There’s profound lessons,
In water’s shapes.

Down at Wensum River.

Without You

I’m so tired
I sleep all night
And most of the day
I watch through the window
The moon moves across the sky
I lay here – still, silent, alone
What’s there to say?
Just a sorry sight
I’m expired

It’s all true
Sound is dulled
The colour is dimmed
Still I carry on just the same
Even though the light has now gone
It does not matter if it rains
A statue in the wind
Nothing to unfold
Without you

A Funeral

There is a funeral tomorrow,
I didn’t know her very well,
But I liked her,
She always had a smile for everyone.

Her friends didn’t like me much,
So we never got a chance,
But I liked her,
She always seemed like a kind person.

I won’t go tomorrow,
I want to but it doesn’t feel right somehow,
But know I liked her,
I always liked her.