I Loved a Sea Man

I'm standing at your shores, your waters taste my toes and I wait for a welcome in.
I have came to hand you the last of my world; all its disaster and glory.
 I wait, excused of all guilt and panic.
 Your waves won't still, I think I've lost your heart. Your winds whisper a chill, my skin hears it first.
My fists unclench and most of my fear subsides and certainty rests on my head.
 I crouch to drown our memories, they ripple through the deep.
 Im standing on your shores again, the moon followed me here this time.
 I've came to hand back our stories- this laundry of sheets stained with shared secrets, hopeless romance and a cracked vasse of our dreams .
My arms are numb from all the weight.
You still refuse to look at me.
I need my world back; with all its kingdoms of disarray associations and disasterous joys, its vallies rolling with daffodils of consequential encounters that excited me in their time and worth.
I'm standing at your shores forgotten, my ankles drip of our sudden past.
The scene is in strange calmness.
 I vow to my need to never come back.


 Image by Raymond Seed

A Night in June: The One-Night Stand Guy

I lay awake in his arms,

naked under the threads of the night,

scribbling a future with my one winged imagination.

I stared lovingly at his shut eyes.

Studied the corners of his lips; the crack of their skin.

The smell of life in his breath.

The distant flickering light of love he kept from everyone else.

The devil who kissed me with his eyes wide open;

A glare so sinister

as our tongues wrestled exploring the treasure in each other's mouths,

joining our breaths together-our deepest secrets and shames.

A computer screen lit and reflected silhouettes that made love on the walls.

The fire-filled palms that bathed my whole body inside a forbidden joy

and soothed it with the nectar that oozed from the tip of his tongue,

i danced, spluttering and splattering until I stood clean as sin.

Within those hours the dry grounds of my heart cracked

and gave way to a pink rose that grew

each time he squeezed my hand or pressed his chest with mine.

This new and strange love collided with his unintended cool; i was just one of his lot.

Had I Been The One To

Had I been the one to

I would embrace your soul and 

have it befriend my own.

Had I been the one to

I would wipe your scars, 

count them and kiss them,

teach you how to cry with a hoping heart.

Given your heart I would patch it every how,

hunt down a star and have it light you up so good,

scattering the shadows I have also lived with.

Embellish your soul with the fragments

 of my once brokenness and say "it's OK".

I dream through your eyes when

you're staring deeply into mine:

I could tell you all the stories I live in

and how happily they always end,

had I been the one to.

Picture: https://lonelywallflower.wordpress.com/

South Africa Diana Ferrus: "I've come to take you home" Tribute to Sara...

I Want To Be Alive

I want to be alive:

 To feel the gloom of gathered clouds

 and the joy of a collective breeze.

To walk with shadows and live in their sorrow.

To be a song to a lonesome sparrow.

I want to be alive;

 To be one in dance with the spirits of the world.

To bewitch time with the intricate beauty of my mind

and live with time and time with me.

I want to be alive;

 To befriend peril and hold him with a song,

 to find bravery in the absence of the day

 and in the presence of man.

To seduce death in return for a dance

 in eternal sunshine.

I want to be alive in all that I am;

 fully in my freedom, hopes and truth.

Picture

-electro.blogspot.com

Man Alight

.A reflection of the story of Ernesto Alfabeto beaten and set alight in the 2008 streak of xenophobia in South Africa.

Winter shed the last of it's morning fog

 and made way for spring's zealous rays.

The streets are a trembling silence.

Mist nests on a morning forgotten by the warmth

 of the sun or the song of a bird.

There's an echo of an ugly cry piercing through

 violent chants and a man remembers home.

The dawning dark bares what yesterday abandoned,

 the night winds wouldn't blow;

  the scent of burnt blood and the site

   of a charred body.

The street lies unaware of the gore on it's back.

The aroma of maize meal porridge ushers in the day,

 life is going on.

Hate is an unappeasable beast- man is it's raging owner.