Nights Comfort Lost

They live on the corner,

Both lost, but together known,

Between the council house and the carpet shop

They make-shift a kerbside home.

 

She, drug-thin, snow-flake skin

Barely hiding the little left within

Yesterday’s jeans slip slight from her hips

Yet undeterred and unrefined, she effs and blinds.

 

He, blind-drunk, weaves and creaks 

Gaze to the floor, head too laden to lift

Yellowed hands hang from coat worn by time

Wringing the neck of his cheap white wine.

 

Unbalanced, she trips in her dislocated mind

Lead-footed, he fumbles on his curved straight line

Til jolted, his bottle crashed and caved in

Against the vindictive ticket-machine.

 

Liquid gold pours down and out

Through the cracks in their cold paved floor

Their nights comfort lost to the ground

Followed by his fury, and her furore.


“brief; we were challenged on DVerse by our host Anmol this week to create a portrait in verse.

“Insight; a portrait of a local couple I sometimes see whilst waiting for the afternoon bus

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Mountain

He set her down,

It was time to stand on her own two feet.

She felt the force of the ground beneath her small heels,

Its potency mounting up throughout her.

She was Eight,

She was a Mountain,

Poised, determinedly firm, immovable.

Power personified.


 

”brief: A quadrille 44 word poem for DVerse Poets Pub hosted by Merrilldsmith inspired by and including the word ‘Set’

 

Night Shifts

Night shifts slow down in the small hours.

The Ward so dim I can barely see

As I watch you, watching me.

What thoughts, in conjuncture, trip and spark

As you gaze lightly through the dark.

 

One of us is lost, one disturbed

The other quietly observes the absurd

I wonder where the line is crossed

as I peer out, or in, through displaced eyes,

which of us is being supervised?

 

Cool darkening begins to creep in,

unpicking the threads that bind I to Me

As I slips from my sense of being

Me clings to its conjugate 

The switch, now clicked, illuminates.

 

Silence hangs once more, the curtain drawn, 

Flimsy fabric separates you from I

Shadows act out our fears on screen

A delicate dance of delusion and dream

That forms then splits to reconvene.

 

But one of us will leave at dawn

As time keeps on its’ tick, tick, tick,

waiting for the tock to clock out, or in,

as when it finds a fragile mind;

the night shifts.

 

“brief; Making much of Madness DVerse Poetics Challenge write in the 1st or 3rd person of your own experiences (real or imagined) or your witnessing mental health issues.

‘Insight; As a young single Mum I worked agency night shifts as a carer on a psychiatric ward, it was during nights like these I realised there is a fine line between those of us coping alone and those needing support.

Migratory Birds

In answer to your call,

The gathering anticipation,

The heavy breasted eager calls,

Weighted;

the Travellers lift to end their pause.

Dark-bellied upon Baltic-pink skies,

Through night and precipitation,

Their movement inks enduring tales,

Seen through the soul of visiting eyes.


“brief; Poem created in response to this weeks dverse poets Tuesday Poets ‘lost in translation’ in answer to the call of Migratory Birds by Serbian Poet Desanka Maksimovic

NESW

breeze, easy days unfolding,

you tease, and catch curls descending,

cool, playful and free,

if I could be breeze, would you spend your days with me?

 

wind, wild nights evolving,

you harangue and tantrum unrelenting,

wild, determined and driven,

if I could be wind, would you rage your nights with me?

 

gale, cold grey all revealing,

you kick and beat mercilessly,

biting, tempestuous and destructive,

if I could be gale, would you give your bones to me?

 

still, silent forever unmoving,

you barely ask for air or sea,

pause, pregnant and brooding,

if I could be still, would you still hold me?

Son of the Sea

You went darkly into the night before me,
I shadow, a daughter of the son-of-the-sea,
And slip on the tails of your spectres-glee.

This scorpion-girl speaks your water-spoken tale,
Churns through blue-marls, surface broken,
Seeking Aegir through ethereal veil.

I, the she-bird, dive deep into tide-looped motion,
Lark-high then down-low with ebb of breath,
I plunge wholly into my namesakes ocean.

Unrelenting, malice-free, your sea story is bound to me,
Bound by both times-spell and waters cradle,
The wave, the tide-turning timepiece, is never free.

In your dark days you’d call deaths name, then falter,
As it stirred in the depths of your anguished ocean, that rose,
and fell like the moon-blown breast on our aching alter.

Gone now are you, gone from these mountain streams,
That still sing and babble your word-drunk dreams,
And carry you through tear-culled valleys,
Gently into the night, son-of-the-sea, at ease.

My first original “expression  for DVerse Tuesday Poetics to create a Dylan Thomas inspired poem and learning to Love the Words.

Hosted by Laura Bloomsbury of PoetryPix