Dandy Lion

in every sense; saturated yellow

at the neon bar

her eyes fell into me

and took a souvenir as she tiptoed out

You’re like Christine and the Queens

she versed

but her eyes were in the next room

I am seen without eyes; obliterated.

That’s the dandelion power.

Vulnerable to the strong winds

she has gone to seed

a shedding of sunshine and nectar

soft as cotton, grey scale

she will grant you one wish in her notebook

ball point pen a-ready.

Dandily roaring to her own sharp teeth

of quick quips; wickedly sharp and

shoved under her mane

so that you won’t see

the umbilical that

that

just can’t cut, can’t join

can’t touch,

she wants

her childhood duvet

she wants to surrender

and fall on soft grass

an arm of grass

two arms

she wants for you

to hold her tight

and tell her

you’re loving

she wanted you to

always take her in

with a cup of hot milk

and hurry in to tell her

things

will

be beautiful again

but,

but,

Dandelion has gone to seed,

the wind won,

now cotton specks fly

through the sky

and Dandy Lion

is free,

is light,

is everywhere

and her seeds

will fall on the lives

with whom she lit up

with wonderous warmth

just like that night

at the neon bar.

Baby Pony Tail

Your camouflage tracksuits bottoms

my fuchsia jumper you loved to wear

your navy Levi’s hoodie; soft, sporty girl.

Our grey and white fleece Disney pyjamas

a collage of the things you wore around the place

a sleepy face, putting the kettle on.

The lesbian jeans the night we met

your plethora of swimsuits

my favourite – a blue lean dolphin in the cubicle

your bloody flip flops on your beautifully meaty feet

the sound of them around the flat.

Your horror at mine – barefoot and infant

The tacky t shirts with the text I hated

the crisp shirts you wore

with pride.

I

was

so

proud

of

you.

That damn bucket hat that made me cringe

but you thought

you were the coolest

I wouldn’t dare break that

I said nothing

Smiled.

The cringe turned into endearment 

and yet another reason to

love you.

I loved you in that damn bucket hat.

Your baby ponytail I adored and teased

I’ve forgotten the joke, the ponytail joke.

Feels poignant – I’m devastated.

The memories fall out of me

until one day there will be nothing left.

Bloomsbury Bee; Virginia

She lands on a letter dated the twenty second, the birth date of the writer, which writer?
me or her
scribbled on the right

of the page, a postal divination
sent with dead skin and trees
on a small letter from her, the helpless creature one
a letter before the death of the patriarchy
a home
that’s hers as much as the balding
her bricks and water dissolve
but there’s always Helpless Creature
Incarnation, deformation of the bones of Bloomsbury Perhaps.
She likes you, she walks across the spine
of your book, stroking her antenna between the words Your words, her nectar, or an old memory of Bloomsbury Perhaps.
She treks the peaks of the individual letters
Reaches the mountain top and does it all again,
she has landed on something familiar, something
a home
shared between the species,
holding hands with the ages
Something that spins in the background,
falling through our fingers
Something
That we feel only when we’re half asleep,
half awake
Spinning with our fingers reached out
It’s as if it doesn’t matter that she isn’t a bee at all
A wasp tip toes on your prose, Helpless Creature.
A betrayal of a poem and
the ‘female of the species
is deadlier than the male.’

The Italian Cafe

I sit in this Italian café to feel home

to hear the songs, the waiter sing-along

and wink, a wink that’s familiar; playful.

I sit in this Italian café to be by your side.

You’re with me as I sip my Americano

smile at Caruso

smell the wood fire oven

and remember our missions to find one in the city.

Serious pizza connoisseurs. Childlike joy.

That was us.

So, I sit in this Italian café and be a child for a moment

sheltered from the world

cloaked in simple pleasures

soaked in a life that was mine for a moment.

I’ll sit in this damn Italian café just to fall back in time

just for a moment

feel the lightness you draped over me like a loving jacket

but no match for my sadness

My heaviness that drowned you in dark coffee beans

Ring-stained cup.

I’ll sit in this Italian café to forget the bitter cups of coffee

the cruel words that ripped my heart like a soft croissant

and careless hands.

Oh, how careless we were.

I’ll sit in this Italian café to remember how gentle

we held each other’s light, even if it was for moment

maybe that’s all we have

If so, I’ll forever hold onto it

Smile and keep my hands careful

Soft

Blind Poet :)

Hi, if you like my poetry please help me out. I’m a struggling artist and poet. I’m visually impaired (only 8% vision and it will continue to deteriorate).

This is all I have. 🙂

❤

https://www.buymeacoffee.com/pining.forest

Bloomsbury Bee; Virginia

She lands on a letter dated the twenty second of the first month

the birth date of the writer, which writer, me, or her

scribbled on the right of the page, a postal divination

sent with dead skin and trees

on a small letter from her, the helpless creature one

a letter before the death of the patriarchy

a home

that’s hers as much as the balding

her bricks and water dissolve

but there’s always Helpless Creature

Incarnation, deformation of the bones of Bloomsbury

Perhaps.

She likes you, she walks across the spine

of your book, stroking her antenna between the words

Your words, her nectar, or an old memory of Bloomsbury

Perhaps.

She treks the peaks of the individual letters

Reaches the mountain top and does it all again,

she has landed on something familiar, something

a home

shared between the species,

holding hands with the ages

Something that spins in the background,

falling through our fingers

Something

That we feel only when we’re half asleep,

half awake

Spinning with our fingers reached out

It’s as if it doesn’t matter that she isn’t a bee at all

A wasp tip toes on your prose, Helpless Creature.

A betrayal of a poem and

the ‘female of the species

is deadlier than the male.’

Reminence

 

She remains in the tiniest cracks of the tattered floor

We step on her everyday just for a delightful replay

Stilettos are the perfect sound for such an endeavour

Chop chop clap clap come here darling

Sit on my lap

Wait, you can’t for you are beneath us

Maybe, another time honey

You can sit there and count your money

One, two, three, you are coming for you

Four, five, six, please wait your turn

The queue is long, please be patient and learn

We Are Electric in Lust

the tiny army of hairs rise up

with the surge of the otherworld

and purge of the tangible

this is electric, this is heroin, and this is cocaine

it is the fire when you add propane

we will both forget the grass and the soil

we say hi to Jesus and Mohammad

the mythical pair of recoil

for nor can they face the grass and soil

the tangible

the real

and us before the electric

 

 

They are my complex one person

little cat with brown and green eyes and big ears

you are scattered

at two points on the atlas purring for me

she

they

lay and bask in the separate equators

they are mine and mine only

for I am the only heart that has felt

the two and their separated times

 

they, my complex one person

she is not one

and they are not two

they will never meet but I know of them

the conjoined two

how wonderful, to know such a weld

weld that is mine only

 

they, my complex one person

they see in the way I see two

I see your otherness little cats

little cat plural

this sight is lonely for it is a show

a show for one

we sit down in the solo seat and see

what we see is only for us

we want cats more than otherness

more than a complexity

we want to share all what is to see

but the seats in the theatre are empty

 

 

 

Is That All

high on the helicopter we go

but a bicycle

is what our eyes will distort

peddle peddle on the loud hybrid machine

Kathleen

hold on for your heart beat

letting go will guarantee a defeat

rise rise above the clouds

and there you will see cows

laying upon the sycamore trees

and when we descend to the ground

we will not be granted entry

to the pretty party you see

for we will not dress in fancy dress

lets go to the supermarket and hug

lovingly

lets be so nice and warm and hear you say

is that all

maybe I have to climb the highest wall

yet not reside at the top

but glued to its greatness in a act

of we are tall

but very much that is all

I always see that blue spark

that runs from your head to your toes

but you still run to sea from the lions

and swim back

I am there too

in the fear of the angry sea gorillas

all in fancy dress and hairspray