Crumble and Mumble

•September 12, 2017 • Leave a Comment

Sitting slotted neatly within a L shaped table
Staring into the corner of a cubicle
and the sharp, methodical changes
Of the computer screen
Fingers clacking out a staccato rhythm on the keys
And meaning forming like jello on the screen
(It could be anything. Anything. Its some thing)
Because of the spaces in your head.
So meaningful so focused so busy.

When you are just leaking away inside
And dribbling away life fluids
waiting , drip-drip, drib-drab
for the next minute, hour , day end , the year .
A lifetime even,
for the next life to come.

I have my limbs
The last I checked
My eyes hurt p’raps for other reasons
But I see , I see.
I have my limbs , my sense, my life.
Some gone,
I have the ones around who I love , but I
Know not for how long
*and that makes me grieve*
I cling to their existence
But it feels like waiting

I have my limbs, my eyes my feet
Why then do I crumble and mumble
Curl up inside all double
And *feel* *so* *sad*.


Shrouded in Sameness

•December 14, 2016 • Leave a Comment

I hurry up the stairs, zig zag once, 

down the corridor and into a lift to my work

I walk through predictable routes

Shrouded in sameness, content in auto pilot.
So I could shoot out of a cannon and explore strange new lands

And wonder if they stock my brand of muesli , meds and sugar-free

While I brood joyously over their sunsets and volcanos 

The pirate in me exults and then scowls as feet squelch in wet mud 

It seems I choose quilts and hot tea over daring and adventure,  me darling..

Ah but what a tragedy that is. 

yes thanks , I’d like to attend my funeral

•November 21, 2016 • Leave a Comment

I’m living on the edge of natural earth and plastic fantastic
but yes, thanks I’d like to attend my funeral

i need to know how i add up
to you
and how my dead face , strangely relaxed and slack
will seem to you
i want to know the thoughts in your head, rushing around.
Are they blankly bereft with wondering where i am gone.
Does this remind you of your mortality
and will you scurry afterward to your cardiologist for a routine check
Are your thoughts distant,sympathetic, or routinely courteous
(because you make it a point to attend all births, weddings and funerals
as if someone up there is keeping score)
will you look at your watch , and unplug, because you have a meeting after?

you hold the Book of My Life as you look down at me.
And flip, riffle, read or shut it.
I am vulnerable, beyond defense
as you judge me, and maybe love me.
i am not there , or am I .
I am at my last physical moment with you
and i need to know what you feel
will your heart break a little for
me, and also yourself, mostly yourself
as you can see yourself on the cold floor too.

i need to know if you felt
the poetry resident and abandoned in my knuckles
the rain and trees i saved up on in my head
on my eyelashes
the songs and words that moved me
play on the passivity of my form
and linger in the slope of my shoulders
did my many betrayals tattoo themselves on my forehead
as the live cells burst open to properly die
and algor mortis set in.

i need to know all this and its square root
if my moment right now of life, the lyrical
can go ahead and happen
can be considered worthwhile
or i could well be hanging on a meathook , a door knob
already , afterallwhocares

i need to know how i subtract from
who you are now
and your life moving on from this moment.
what my life , in its series of moments, painful knees, revelations,
and aspirations
will mean to you , suspended ,
when you look at me
and i can never never ever look back at you.


•August 28, 2016 • Leave a Comment

I sit on dim balconies 

Lights off , or mainly off

The battery of chargers and electronica 

Dot my room with red and yellow pinpoints 

Reminding me of the chips and wires that sustain and support my daily 


On night duty, steadily, inexorably 

Whether I want it or not.

Who will go to the mains and pull the plug, who will 

So those remnants to my electrical day  fade to nothing in a lingering shrug  of


But I won’t do it , because its my only rein to hold my day slipped past

Like a dashboard of readiness and an off beat pretense 

And as long as my eyes flutter , I shall see them 


•August 28, 2016 • Leave a Comment

I will be like gauze 

And let you see through me, mostly. 

I will sit pulsating in the resin that puss-ily sprouts from a jackfruit tree

From the tree bark, a shrub or a flower bud.

Beautiful and ugly and right in some icky cosmic balance 

Mutter many names of Gods under 

My breath .

As if their knowledge will give me some insurance 

Call to me as the world 

A world that wants all of me

Sticky, glowing, crumpled and complete

Call to me in the bridge between sunrise and sunset

Like you’ve always been waiting,

Breath caught like harking phlegm in your throat 

The cruelty of still knowing only what you want me to know . 

A thin veneer covering who and what you really want 

And yet that is enough for me. 


•May 29, 2016 • Leave a Comment

You go come back home

Nothing’s changed and so much has .

You have though..

And then the elastic of home 

snaps back around you 

like the skin you always had. 

Stones in a Monastery 

•December 8, 2015 • Leave a Comment

I can recall this moment like it was yesterday. 

Going up to the monastery with the icy cool breeze of the hill wrapt around me 

the ascetic , knobbly grey of the uneven stone path 

and the apologetic moss-coppery green of lichen on them. 

That stone obelisk with faded , musty, white little shreds fluttering , 

and then those flat round stones laid in mute memory with both hope and pain. 

Of course I had to turn back. As did the avalanche of CJ. 

But it felt right, 

all that feeling anchored in stone in a strange land, 

virtually scattering her ashes in places that will also be memory.  

 And it is.
Already it is.