poem #22

ivy

i built this house
stone by stone.
my fingers bled
from all the work.
i pulled up the drawbridge
but not before letting you in.
i witnessed you plant something,
i allowed it to grow and grow.

now ivy climbs and strangles the walls.
buried deep in the foundations
and lifting my floors.
the windows now completely covered,
i forced those shutters closed.

i locked the basement,
but the flies crawl through the cracks.
i swat them away; more come - 
the body you hid down there no doubt.

the yellow wallpaper that i hate;
peeling at the edges and tobacco stained.

i risk a glance outside, is that you?
i know it has been years
since you last climbed that fence.

i must find those shears,
i thought i had them here.
did you take those too?

the near constant drizzle of rain;
oppressive clouds coagulate over me
like voluptuous rolls of fat in the sky.
i shiver against the damp chill,
but the fires cannot be lit.
i imagine you surrounded by light,
bathed in an orange, diaphanous glow
of warm July sunshine.

poem #21

unspoken

slowly, i move from room to room.
standing. motionless.
staring into the space.
only my shadow moves with changing light.
i want to lie down.

i boil the kettle for tea,
that buys me time.
a watched kettle never boils.
the familiar screeching jolts me back;
that didn't feel long at all.

a lump move upwards inside -
best to ignore it.
giving it attention gives it strength,
allowing it escape
as a scream.
or something worse.

what a waste.
all those unsaid words.
i had them well-planned.
your ears remain innocent.

what sort of power
can silence
without a gag?
suffocated - 
but still breathing.
perhaps you're a magician
to pull such a clever trick.
i'm convinced of your kindness,
whilst i watch you sharpen your knives. 

poem #15

she told me to cut the cards twice
and create three piles. 
then she told me,
pick three cards,
as i held my question in the air.
she placed walnuts on the table.

the air filled with thick mist;
a blue filter over the forest.
she lay there on the rocks,
her legs partially in the stream.

a single pink rose on her breast;
her marble skin glowed.
her palms facing up like the Virgin.
the fur of animals had been scattered;
her hair neatly combed.

poem #13

i know what burns within
those pages,
i know the secrets that 
you hide.
i know the pain that
follows ages,
i know what lurks
inside.

poem #7

forgotten

like a forgotten museum,
having remained hidden 
and undisturbed.

i was stepping back in time.
everything veiled in a misty film
caused by years of damp.

dozens of books 
and a variety of objects; 
pieces of furniture,
remained exactly as left.

my nose grew irritated
and itched insatiably. 
the pungent, cellar like aroma - 
musty, rotten, damp.
my tongue tasted the mould.

the wooden floor felt spongy
and bounced beneath my feet,
a spring in every step
as i walked inside.

his desk as he left it.
letters strewn, half written.
in the corner, a framed photograph.
so he did love, after all.