Friday, 22 February 2013

There is a Weight

There is a weight in my legs
that I'm not privy to.
I stretch them to release
the heaviness.
Then I walk around
until the sun shines upon my face.

I see people.
Men. Women.
Each sex seeing each other different.
The sun hits each visage in
a different way,
reacting to lines and contours.

None move the same, thoughts
different, but beyond basic.

Sad eyes stare at the walls
inside the tunnel,
drunken jeans low on the hips
leaving the glare of a thong
that is left in peace by the idiosyncrasies
of strangers thoughts.

Two girls skip up the elevator
weightless in the air
freed of momentary thinking.
Mock heels clattering
across the floor at three steps
back for one dance forward.

Hair grows unfettered across
richly worn skin,
greyed at the edges with experience
that cannot be found in his book
but learned
from the wind and sea.

Each sees the air move
in a different circle.

My legs feel calm now.
Blood flows through them

I can't make the blood stop.
Nor change the direction that
it flows,
but I can direct the sun
to hit my skin where I want it to.

So I do.


  1. I like this a lot, you may like this <3

  2. Just when you think someone is as perfect as perfect can get ... they become something completely and utterly more beautiful (:

  3. Oh. This was wonderful. Thank you for sharing.

  4. what is it with some people? something attractive, something actable, something interesting, and funny? intelligent? and you can do what I hate people doing. you're doing poetry. I hate people who do poetry and you're doing poetry and worse - your poetry does not annoy the fuck out of me which ruins my "Law of Poetry in the Natural Form" which does not agree with Stephen Fry but hey I have my own literary tolerances....and I hate that you're doing poetry well and because I don't hate you after reading it ruining that former belief and FUCK! GAWD! REALLY! you little shit - you CAN write.

  5. No words can express, simply beautiful.

  6. No worries, for when one gains a year , It isn't only a year. One can never truly say "It's only been a year..." without playing back memories as if one were editing a film YOU, YOUrself have directed as Life solemnly seems so. As these so called memories are playing back, one can't help but think about how irreplaceable they really are. Kind of how when one looks at a certain scene one is editing to perfection, and thinks ..."Wow , it's so beautiful, captivating, and hypnotic. How fortunate can one feel as I do right now. Achieving the goal." And as one pulls oneself out of trance, of deep thought, one can only hope to transcend the feelings and actions one has gained to the world. The "Fulfillment" the year has brought for one to carry on.

  7. Gorgeous poem. Observations of what is around you, and just emotions. This is one of those poems that paints a clear picture.

  8. Reading this the following poem came to mind:
    "These things are good:
    ice cream and cake,
    a ride on a Harley,
    monkeys in the trees,
    the rain on my tongue,
    and the sun shining on my face.

    These things are a drag:
    dust in my hair,
    holes in my shoes,
    no money in my pocket,
    and the sun shining on my face."
    (Rocky Dennis/Mask)


  9. beautifully brilliant. you manage to sculpt the words in a way that your readers can physically feel the movement of blood through our own limbs & warmth of the sun on our skin. not many people can do this well. kudos, sir. keep up the good work.
    xx Jules

  10. A magical poem, lovely written. It remains in my head still, I love when words make me stop for a moment and THINK and just.. be. Thank you.

  11. I discovered your blog today and I related to it immediately.
    I really love your connection through all aspects of art and you assuredly thrive in many artistic parts.
    I must admit I can make the same statement as in your launching post but let's say that's life.
    Thanks for sharing.

  12. I love the images in your poems, so simple, yet so richly expressed.

  13. Beautifully written. This stanza struck a cord with me, not sure why just yet.

    "Hair grows unfettered across
    richly worn skin,
    greyed at the edges with experience
    that cannot be found in his book
    but learned
    from the wind and sea"