I remember how it had once tasted;
The sweet air
The stale fumes
The incomprehensible fly to the flame,
Wondering how he, too, fell for the light. Continue reading
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Written Poetry
Ode to the Durian
our fruit king smells like rotting onions, majesty
of prickling green whose skin is the shell
of spikes. his treasures are the orientalists’
fantasy, whose rich gold beyond all
the wildest imaginings Continue reading
March Mind Control
Greyscale
She inhabits an empty barren world,
filled with vibrant greens which ripple into
rust and violet and corn and maroon,
and bright sunshine that reflects starlight on Continue reading
Growing Up
You shed your skin with sinful ease as time runs to keep up.
Ten weeks worth of smashed cots burn bonfire-bright in your belly
despite the December rain. You throw his letters to the wind now,
you wash your own hair now.
Communion
I promise
to relish in the terror of my death
as I plunge into the concrete
ocean of broken dreams.
Sunflower on the Windowsill
Sat sinking deep
Red armchair thinking
Curtains on the cusp of something –
Open them let the light flow
Softly, softly now, into the room
Where it reveals old being new;
On the windowsill there is a sunflower
With its head confidently raised
‘you’ve watered it every day’
To bring the English country home
Inside to confide
With warm unnatural glows
Trim it down the stem
And realise as day turns to night
Turns to leaves falling
Turns to winter
Turns to water droplets on the window
Mist and fog
That it cannot last it will die –
Watch the petals fall and slide
To the floor
It cannot handle or understand
the urban interior light
it makes no substitute.
Its vase remains
Close the curtains
Again – the petals fall one by one
By one
By one.
by Michael Morgan
Drowning
i thought my biggest fear was drowning.
the everlasting pull, the silent scream,
the grabbing onto nothingness in hope that
i can be rescued.
Cadmium
two paints in the pack:
cadmium yellow and
cadmium red.
the yellow’s on my nails –
you like that one.
you hold my hand out and inspect it
mostly shine, with the occasional chip.
you don’t seem to notice the chip,
or, at least, it doesn’t bother you;
it’s nice.
Big Me, Little Me
Little me wants to touch the sun
Big me’s instinct is to run
Little me makes earth my toy Continue reading
