I have reams of unfinished poems scattered throughout my life;
On my phone, in Voice Memos,
On the numerous laptops that I've had,
On serviettes, scrap paper and on my heart.
Will they remain incomplete;
Hidden works of art?!
Or will they spill out one day
As complete works to part?

All seems different,
like a blurry landscape
with vanishing maps.
The distance from the past
keeps growing.
I slice through space and time,
on the chosen path,
along a trajectory of circumstances.
Against the denial of access,
against the gate closing,
just to hold together what was apart.

Argh!
Pain and torment overwhelms,
Trying to express saddness,
Is like giving birth to death —
Which has led to denial, distraction and disconnection…

Ohhh!

Stunted grief equals stunted growth?!
But…
Reconnecting equals reclaiming;
Not fast,
But slow —
The slow food movement has infiltrated my grief,
On trend,
Or just on point?!

Have we been sold a lie,
That has kept us from ourselves?

It doesn’t have to make sense.
No pretty bow is needed,
No sugar coating,
No sweetness full stop.

Grief is messy!
And freeing —
And long,
And painful,
And healing,
And sweet.

But it needs working through,
For blossoms to bloom —
New beats to croon,
New tastes to tantilise,
New colours to be canvassed,
New sights to be seen.

Don’t rush, just stroll.
Don’t shrink for others,
But rise up,
Against the machine,
Let anarchy wait,
For new life to be claimed,
In due time…

Step outside the box,
Nothing makes sense as,
This is a new experience,
Made just for this season.
Don’t fight to control,
It’s just for a reason.
Release and let go —

Life gives and life takes,
Those that mean the most -
Burrowed deep within us,
Dwelling close to our hearts -
Clinging to our souls.

Some unexpected,
Some unforeseen -

For it is those losses,
Those weighted losses...
That hurt the most.

Leaving us with gaping holes,
In our chests -
Body aching...

Leaving us with only memories,
Pieces of them that continue on -
Replaying on loop.
Slight nudges to help us remember -

Remember they existed.
Remember they were real.

Those losses.

Those. Weighted. Losses.

Old crippled man, charcoal burnt and ashen,
a thousand days debauchery molded you in this fashion.
Haggard and stiff, you can barely walk across the stage--
no one ever thought that you would make it to this age.
Your girth has expanded (although it’s covered well),
but still your piercing voice summons demons up from hell.
Not as strong as it was once, but eerie just the same,
calling those who’ve followed you, who now chant your name,
to assemble in our legions, gathered in this shrine,
where we repeat the catechism, in throbbing metered rhymes.

Are you a madman? Or just a troubadour
who lends melodic shimmer to verses dark and dour.
Whose singing slides and skims along the edge of sanity,
but who never surrendered to the true evil of vanity.
Recovered from drunken, dissolute despair,
to call the faithful masses back, never mind the wear and tear--
to plod the journey of your craft, to sing before the crowd
whose loyalty, to your band, forever is avowed.

Have you ever just wanted to eat sugar straight from the bag?
To open your mouth wide and pour?
Not stopping for air.
But gasping for more --

Sometimes I have these cravings,
galore --

My mother has a new relationship!
After the death of my father,
I wondered if there’d be another -
When we meet up, in the morning, to go walking,
She shares about the back-and-forth chats, that stimulate her mind, heart and spirit…
I wonder who he is…
Is he tall?
Is he dark?
Is he handsome?
He is none…
He doesn't speak, or interrupt,
But grows and challenges her;
Together they formed business ideas and
last night they formed a new nation?!
Who is this ‘ideal’ fella?!
ChatGPT!
Technology meeting the needs in this day and age —

When I was younger,
I kissed a lot —

I mean many, many lips...

I kissed in dares,
Men with hair
and without.

I kissed in hiding places behind trees,
In dark movie theatres,
In sunshine and under deep blue water...

Oh, the places my lips have been.
Breathless pants,
mouthing moans at just a glance...

Oh yeah, I've been there!

And what about the inappropriate kisses?! Trauma kisses from people you trusted; my History teacher, when he took me up to the Monument one day after school,
we sat there in his car, stroking my hand, he leaned in and took it way too far...
Eventually, I moved away and we "lost touch"
But I still think about it...and moving home, I often wonder if I will ever see him walking somewhere near?

But as I've matured,
and become more discriminating...discerning --
I've run out of kissing stories to tell.

They now feel like the lips of a princesses waiting in the tower
Waiting for the kiss from her prince --

I long for a kiss --
that takes my breath away...

What is that saying?!
“All good things must come to an end.”
Jehovah Jireh, You are never ending
And, Your love knows no bounds.
You are outside of time,
And this world.

I moved it off the porch today,
where sun falls hard and wide.
The *** is cracked, the roots are weak.
Still, something waits inside.

The blooms were bruised, a weathered pink,
like lips that lost their say.
Still, one had cupped the morning rain
and hadn’t looked away.

My back cried out. I crouched and worked,
Hard knuckles in the dirt.
I cut the dead, I turned the soil,
poured water where it hurt.

I set it by the cedar rail,
where shade and heat align.
Still stiff. Still sore. You’re gone. That holds.
It’s standing. So am I.