If You Have a Moment

If you have a moment,

remember.

If you can,

call me to mind.

If you have a second,

spare it.

Look and I am here,

you will find.

Invite Yourself In

Knock softly

on your own door;

invite only yourself in.

Look at yourself,

looking at yourself

in the mirror.

Look back.

Offer something warm,

if only a hand.

Talk only to you,

rest only with you;

sleep deeply with yourself,

and awake the next,

glad to see who waits there.

Be kind to yourself

when the new day comes;

invite only yourself in.

Grey

This grey hair is study;

that one,

learning to work.

This grey hair is your brain feeling muddy;

that one,

the first time you hurt.

This grey hair is growing;

that one,

finding your way.

This grey hair is knowing;

and new ones,

for each passing day.

(Falling in Love with) The Tailor

As he chalked and measured,

I admired his hands

and the way they moved

with precision.

He told me instead,

I had put a foot wrong:

only style pleasured his vision.

(Falling in Love with) The Sailor

With a drink,

I welcomed him

onto the port;

he told me he was

more inclined to sherry.

I was hooked –

reeled in,

lined and sinker –

but sank

when he sailed away

on his ferry.

The Problem with Firsts

The problem with firsts,

is nothing has been learnt

and all is left to learn;

everything is felt,

and nothing faced.

The problem with firsts

is that they feel like last,

like final things;

they feel like the end,

endless ends

and the end of this world.

The problem with firsts,

is their coming first,

at full speed all at once,

and at first.

Made for Late Nights

This is late nights

turned to early mornings.

Electric messages

and touching hands.

This is sweet,

made for the savouring.

(Falling in Love with) The Waiter

I asked the waiter

to bring me the cheque;

he told me his name was Bill.

I left a tip,

and

he told me ‘I Owe You’.

Next time,

he asked the waiter

to bring us the cheque –

Bill,

on the tip of my tongue.

Drive ‘til the Road Sparks

Drive the night,

‘til the road sparks.

It’s worth it,

for the electricity.

Pencils

Pencils tell stories,

and though they blunt,

they are sharpened

after every page,

telling stories still,

up to their end.

Returning Winter

Spring promises

may bounce and bound,

but sometimes

only backwards,

the season

breaking its vows,

and bringing naught but

a returning winter.

Roam

This,

the broken road;

there, ahead: unknown.

Just know

that all to do is roam,

and wait and see –

and roam.

Diffusing a Bomb / To An End

I have long

disconnected

my ears and mouth

and mind,

as though I were diffusing a bomb

set down by you,

carelessly,

in the bustling courtyard beneath my ribs.

I have long cut wires

to protect from destruction,

not realising that each one

was nothing but distraction,

set out by you,

deliberately,

and that the

final

ticking

seconds

would always lead to an

end.

Waste

This is for running in circles

like the hands of a clock,

all sickening dizziness

and cruel wastes of time.

I Told You So

I would love to say

that I hate to say

I told you so,

but that would be a lie –

the truth is

that I love to say

that I hate to say I told you so,

because what I told you

is unavoidably true,

and even to say I hate it

is a lie –

that much is true:

I love to say I told you so,

because I told you so,

and the truth

is that

I cannot lie,

and you can only tell the truth,

admitting that I told you so,

even if you hate it,

even if you wish it were a lie,

knowing that the unavoidable truth

is that

I told you so.

Only Night

Say it once –

or but a wave.

Night.

Complaints of cold

and only

night.

There is nothing more;

only the least that

can be given.

Night –

just that,

and so ends the day,

with

complaints of cold

or but a wave.

Only night.

Fine

Many things here

are fine.

Mostly the lines I

tread around you,

and

all of the things

which are not.

The Girl in the Bright Orange Dress

You arrived quietly,

determined in avoidance,

and yet

wholly unavoidable

in your bright orange dress.

You had designed yourself

as the unknowable one,

and I

had designs on

knowing all I could

about your colours,

your fonts,

and every icon of your being.

There you stayed,

a little way off,

blonde hair

and secret humour

riding the wind

in a place we shared

by nothing more than

a happy accident.

Thankfully,

you walked steadily closer

after time,

and continued

until you reached me,

or rather until I reached you.

Now you are a presence,

no longer quiet or in

the corner,

but still and always

the girl

in bright the orange dress.

Things I Learnt After I Met Myself on the Kitchen Floor

Things I learnt after I met myself on the kitchen floor:

– The only way to figure things out is to leave your ex, quit your job, stop drinking, start writing, and ask your sister

– If you are walking into a room, then it’s because you’re supposed to be there

– Filling your lungs with air and puffing out your chest is just as important as the breathing of the everyday, and you owe yourself that oxygen

– Sometimes the kitchen floor is the only safe place to reset; just remember to clean up and dust yourself off when you’re ready to plant your feet on the ground again

– Take everyone with you who loves you and you won’t be alone, even if you’ve forgotten the rule about that room that you’re absolutely supposed to be in

– Be patient with your impatience; he’s as bored of you as you are of him, but it doesn’t mean you’re not still friends, it’s just that he’s a bad influence

– Cheerleaders have a difficult job and that’s why sometimes you can’t call out for yourself, but you should try, even when your throat hurts

– Fresh air exists; it’s quite simple and quite something

– Leave behind the wrong things even when it’s hard, and even when they look right, and even when they are

– Don’t beat yourself up about getting things wrong, losing time, or being lost; black eyes don’t see better in the dark, and you can’t always have a map to hand

– Learn every day; it is a gift you can give yourself

– Failing to say things out loud doesn’t stop them from being true, but if you don’t say them out loud then they might as well not be

– Bleeding is normal; even rivers break new ground sometimes in places they’re not supposed to

– You have something to say and something to sing, even if the neighbours hear

– The tricks of magic mirrors are made for haunted houses at fairgrounds, not for homes, where there’s nothing fair about their presence

– There is sunshine

– Difficult things are just facts, even though a lost wallet is nothing like a lost cat and a dead houseplant is nothing like a dead father

– Everyday should feel like ordering from the greatest restaurant, where service comes with a smile and you always get exactly what you ask for, because that’s what you deserve

– Even flowers grow and shrink throughout the year

– I will meet you again, on that kitchen floor, but this time we will be friends

Code

You,

with your sideways smile,

and piercing blue eyes,

write a code

I am beginning to decipher,

while I write

and sing;

while I dance around you,

and you begin to learn all my

steps.

Left Standing in Dust

When I finally turn on my heel,

all that will be left

is dust,

and you will be

standing in its wake,

and mine,

coughing an echo of loneliness,

and failing,

still,

to say anything

when I finally turn on my heel.

Forked Tongue

Yours is a tongue

forked with silence

and covered in a poison

of all the things

you should say to me,

if only your senses

were just as snakelike

and your wriggling backbone

had any strength at all.

Thief in the Night

One day

you will realise

that you were a prisoner,

and you will be grateful

for the escape,

but you will inevitably

remain ungrateful

and the times I helped you

forget that the walls were thick,

and let you take

a deep breath of fresh air

and stretch your legs,

and experience a freedom

for which

you had been waiting,

while you set me aside

to take everything you could,

like a thief in the night.

Try That

Try giving your thanks

when you hear me

failing to say out loud

that you are ungrateful.

Too Much Blood

This is like

giving too much blood –

probably because

you’re actually holding a knife

– and then finding

every drop

has been wasted because,

even though you need it

and should be grateful

that is saves you,

you would rather

let it spill

into the dirt

and leave me hollow –

and covered in wounds

– just to prove a point

about your own

unbeating heart.

Only Time

There is only time to

break

the rules in silence,

and say nothing at all,

between

all the moments

when you simply happen

not to be listening,

anyway.

What Poetry?

What possible point

could there be

to all this poetry,

when every other

word I speak is

wasted on you?

Silently

You came in like a ghost –

all your

quiet and mystery

– and left

in much the same way:

silently,

and without explanation.

This Isn’t Love

This way of being

isn’t lit by sense, but made from

love in the dark.

One Thousand Things to Say

There are words here,

for that is the rule:

speak

or not a thing is true.

It seems to be

as though I knew,

I had

one thousand things to say.