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 Michael Morgan
i thought my biggest fear was drowning.
the everlasting pull, the silent scream,
the grabbing onto nothingness in hope that
i can be rescued.
two paints in the pack:
cadmium yellow and
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;
Little me wants to touch the sun
Big me’s instinct is to run
Little me makes earth my toy Continue reading
I think of those who sat here before me,
Drinking overpriced tea in an overpriced seat;
Trying not to feel miffed at £2.20 for a teabag and hot water,
But this frivolous life is one that is growing on me,
The art of not caring becomes all too natural
As I sit by the door and think about leaving
But not leaving.
Death is sleeping
beneath the surface of the water.
She is alive with insects,
moss flowering over her wings.
Little black bat, submerged in formaldehyde,
leather-skinned old woman–
don’t wake just yet. Continue reading
I woke the night it finally rained
With a desire to take myself outside and lie down
Among all the broken spines of estranged grass
Baked dry by this new breed of summer sun Continue reading
For the village of strong women that raised me. I am indebted, always.
I will always need another body to follow through the fog
another voice to cut through the darkness
a thousand more tongues to set alight when our syllables
more fingernails to watch collect ink and stone as they claw their way home Continue reading
I want to shake her
when she surfaces, coughing,
my whole body shakes
when she dives again
exhaling yes like they will give her breath
I say no as if I could slow her fall. Continue reading
Do you think she stands there just because she can;
To feel the pulling wind of soon arriving trains
Balancing the tightrope of the platforms edge
As she sways to the echoed vibrations?