Category Archives: poetry

(Untitled)

Belfast how you’ve grown.

I was barely gone, on the scheme of things

But I barely know you and

Cannot put my finger on

What it is that makes me love you and yet

Feel still so far away.

Crowds are lonely even when there are

Familiar faces.

Faces drawn on bravely,

Drawn on a wall, peace walls.

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Thursday, 30 January, 2014 · 4:48 pm

Roomie

Remember that night you were coming home late

And I stood up at the window in the door while you were putting your key in the lock?

You screamed blue murder and alarmed the neighbours

While I crossed my legs and we laughed til our bellies ached.

 

 

Remember that night I came home to an unexpected correspondance;

I fell to my knees at your door and wept?

You too wore out knees and tissues

While I grieved and doubted and raged, we sobbed til our throats were raw.

 

 

Remember I used to leave ends of old baguette on the kitchen counter

Like a little present unasked for but not entirely unexpected?

You’d smile and leave it there til I’d remember what I’d done

And we’d laugh and sit down to eat your diet soup without bread while the cat scratched at our jeans.

 

 

Remember we refused to get a television because we were oh so cultured darling,

And we put your PC in the corner out of the way, because there was nowhere else for it?

You’d casually switch it on, slip a DVD in the drive and with a sideward glance at my nod

We’d watch Friends back to back til bedtime.

 

 

Remembered vignettes of a shared life, a witnessed life, a different life;

Moving in, moving out, moving on…

Things change, memories make it worthwhile

But now I have to do all the dishes.

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Filed under change, friends, home, humour, poetry, story

Jillian

One thinks of candles at a time like this.

She had a go at both ends,

Grabbing life with both hands

Without wavering.

 

 

But it ends as it began:

With awe and wondering and tears,

Though this time prematurely.

(“Snuffed out”)

And this time the tears shine for what is lost,

Rather than for what is begun.

*     *     *

And here we were,

Arrogantly counting days

On widespread fingers,

Fretting about the wind;

When while what was cupped in our hands, is now

Immortalised in cyberspace.

Like a still-life painting on a gallery wall.

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Filed under death, poetry

A lazy repost (because my friend did it too)

Was just thinking about this little poem today.  I posted it a few years ago, but here it is again for your reading pleasure…

 

Life is big,

And I don’t get it.

And I’m kind of tired of not getting it.

That’s a little sentence, but really its big.

Very big.

A bit like life.

 

Its got to be some sort of haiku or some kind of named form?  Don’t know, but it just came out this way and I kind of like that it encapsulates the simplicity with which we have to face our inability to know and control everything.  It names the fatigue that comes from trying, but recognises that that’s okay.

“Come to me all who are weary and heavy-laden and I will give you rest” ~ Jesus

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Filed under grace, poetry

Risk

And then the day came, 1040326_76162204
when the risk
to remain tight
in a bud
was more painful
than the risk
it took
to Blossom

~ Anais Nin

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Filed under beauty, fear, poetry, risk

Thirst

When I listen to you live my throat feels dry.

My lips crack and dry up,

Thirsty for water that breathes deeply

Into my longing.

Lifting the cup to my mouth I hesitate,

Pursed lips tentatively gasping,

Drawing you in like hot tea that might blister my tongue

Rendering all else tasteless.

But I’d rather drink you down

(with

–     no fear of getting burnt     –

reckless

gulping

drafts)

Drink you down to the depths

Of sweet Spirit, and of Truth

And of grace.

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Filed under beauty, fear, grace, poetry, random, truth

The Return

The city awaits

Like a held breath and butterflies.

A longing of which

The anticipation is half the pleasure.

Familiar territory made strange by absence,

Laden with memory,

Exotic with change.

I will come again to your streets

Much-paced,

Long-lingered,

Where I will be free once more

To lay bare the secrets you once exhaled,

Whispered to a younger soul

Much lighter than mine.

My feet are no strangers to your streets,

Nor my eyes to your sight.

But who it was that took them there is a mystery

That I alone cannot fathom.

Change, when it is not height,

Can only be measured

By omniscience and eternity.

And so it is that I come;

An estranged wife,

A tourist in my own hometown,

A vagabond who dropped something

And came back to search.

There are glimpses of me

But only as I see her:

T-shirt in winter

And him:

Hairwaxed swagger

And them:

Wizened hands sticky,

Still fishing, still selling,

Unchanging.

Change, when it is not height,

Can only be measured

In light of the

Unchanging – not because it is simple,

But already taller than height,

Wider than width,

Deeper than depth –

Perfection.

And so I leave those streets behind.

There where the unknown meets the unseen,

The is meets what has been,

And what will be, will be…

I Am.

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Filed under beauty, change, France/French, home, poetry, random, story, travel