In Remembrance

Say it!
Say it so you won’t forget
but I will.
White and gentle
care and cotton
hold my hand
all forgotten.
Which am I?
Giver or Receiver?
I never knew
or cared.
Counting back
I never got there
shrieking noise
was all I heard.
What matter was it?
Grey transcended
I thought too hard
too late.
Currents passed
blankness stared
I couldn’t see
or know
where I was then.
Was this the place
where I had been
And where were you?
You went because 
you knew  
I would forget.
I am now
as I was then
but forgotten.


Soundless you ceased to be,
Oh my daughter.
A shell of a life
A sigh with no start.

Is it better
To live, twenty years and more,
To long and to yearn,
To lose the distance
That will never come?

Or did the pulling darkness,
The lack of time,
Beguile you more?
I never saw your face at all
My dear, dead child.

My daughter
All this you will not know.
You will never walk
Through dark nights or bright days.
I will never know.
To a psychiatrist
To you, I am a brief moment,
A problem, if not solved, then put aside.
My anguish is interesting to you,
But cannot touch you.
To me, you are hope,
You will say the forgotten words 
That will mend the frayed thread
Of my existence.
Trembling, I wait
For what never comes.
How can you say 
What you do not know?
I look into a mirror
And close the sides,
And see green reflections,

Element and traitor
What do you ask of me?
Your name soothes my tongue,
belies my mind.
I see you
stretching through the years
soft like butter
white chalk hard
What are you?
A two-faced mask
stealing feelings
taking what I have
and laughing at it
through tears.
Metal, you are me
now, you have become me.
I am emotionless
This is you.
Retrospective yearning for middle age

You slouch in your chair
You are old
You are forgotten
You dribble slightly
Your trousers gape
Keep away from my baby
who is young
who smiles at me a
wet wide smile
whose nappy binds
We leak and age
then age and leak
a peak of dignity
wells sometime in between
for most 
You never knew that middle
age could be so good
which meant that you 
old man
Living on

A flame in the flesh
sears and holds that
which looks away.
The sea, the sky will never reach
the voice which cannot speak.
Douse that fire
leave what is left of
me to fate.
A hand grips fast, from far away
a voice speaks silently.
A pilot flame
burns on behind a
darkened mesh.
The fingers soften and leave
The voice is lost in a choir.
Drug death sonnet

The road was all awash with mud and slush
when past the grim-faced doors we pushed our feet
We knew why we had come, and through the mush
we saw the one we sought wound by a sheet.
We cared not for his fate, or how he died
or who his mother was, or if he loved,
all this was nothing to us, he had lied;
Black lies that meant we stood with him and shoved
him, when he drank that drink so still and green.
He smiled a little then. His fear was not
when he would die, or what his death would mean
but dread of senseless suffering, withdrawal and of rot.
The scent of death was on him, all the way
Through life, and dying a relief that final day.
Call me Steph
she said, gazing, lips apart,
she didn’t like him all that much
her mother loathed him though
and that would do
his house was weird and deep
and dark and clammy
but the drink was good
rows and rows of shiny bottles
she sat there on his knee 
suckling, fingers trailing in his 
black cold hair as she
reached for another
his voice was gentle
aren’t you hungry?b
he touched her lips 
you must eat now
she tossed her head
hands sliding on the glass
his hand on hers
and hers on his
afterwards she lay
he left her fruit
six seeds she ate
to quench her thirst
and then she drank again
a dark warm wine, and slept
Seph, he said, Persephone,
stay with me