Diaspora

I miss my love affair with the City. Playing different characters each day as I climbed the steep streets in search of romantic experiences. The silent sense of self importance as I lit my smoke and cradled my coffee. Entering my favorite bookstore looking for the next shining gem to transport me out of the dark. Sitting stoned, watching the waterfall, sharing secret smiles with other cosmic travelers. Shopping for fantasy underwear and planning the next night of passion. Playing housewife and hostess, the envy of the men who tried to steal me away. When the colours began to fade and the walls close in, I would simply smoke it all away, feeling the paints flow once again with each deep inhale.

Diaspora¬† –¬† movement or migration of a group of people away from an ancestral homeland

Diary Entry 28/08/10

2.07am

I force myself to write. driven by fear and guilt. A tension in my teeth and stomach. I made it out of bed today. But to what aim? Here I am, tired and overwhelmed b the thought of another day. I delay sleep, for with sleep comes nightmares, and then another day.

There was a bug on my toothbrush, luckily habit forced me to rinse the brush before applying it to my mouth. I watched the little orange bug spin around the stark sink down into the black hole.

Poetical Ramblings

The stark white stamp of the moon,

on the bruised cheek of the sky.

 

Smoke licks into my nostrils,

Pockets of conversation.

 

How can you tell my tears from the rain?

 

The sea is a laundry, forever folding and creasing itself.

 

The dial of sunlight flares and fades.

A gasp of wind grips my room, then withers away.

 

A cloud of doves upon the lawn.

Ragged rainbows oil the path.

Flakes of Decaying Paint

Flakes of Decaying Paint, feathers of abandoned cobwebs. A manufactured circling heat, lifting the pages of a downcast novel. Plastic flowers thrust awkwardly into the pursed chapped lips of a vase. A patrolling tuxedo cat carry’s its toi toi tail proudly.

The apologetic Asian is uncharacteristically loud, he tumbles down the corridor and does battle with his lock and key.

The bed sinks, the ceiling rises, the stairs lead to a shrinking cave. The nurses photos smile sternly upon me, guarding the aged twin leather armchairs.

There are no stars tonight. The garden is illuminated although there is no moon.

I swirled her vomit down the sink, I cancelled the spa. She escapes her pain through sleep, softly snoring, head heavy on the only two pillows. I dare not wake her, but I dare not sleep.

I too want to escape but dreams bring mourning, morning.

An ache grips my wrist, one addiction for another.

on the birth of my daughter

pink suffocates the room,

clown faces swell,

their babbling infects the air.

balloons knock above my head,

wrestling with their chains.

a wall of concrete,

presses up against the frosted windows.

my starched sheets cut snowy peaks,

until the nurse tucks them taut again.

the whites of the television teeth,

the buzzing bar of light.

the ceiling tiles a game of tetris, falling

the arc rises with the flood,

a tearing of two halves.

champagne flows aboard,

i am left naked on the shore.

Abandoned Post

Soldier shoes in rows of faded leather,

stand wearily to attention.

The cricket’s screech ricochets

around the deserted camp.

A field of rust coloured grass,

like the stiff bristles of a hairbrush.

Tendrils of gorse weave a camoflage

through the bleached bones of a bicycle.

A dented tin can half filled with ash,

conversations past.

Ants descend into ravines,

carrying supplies from under the sun’s spotlight.

A grey hide strewn across the broken step

twitches, waiting for the familiar creak

of an old soldiers shoe.