Category: Poetry and Prose

A Good Friend

Having a good friend
is like
having a timer
when boiling eggs.

It reins in distraction,
prevents my heart from hardening,
stops me collapsing in the heap,
and maintains my sense of decency.

– dedicated to Niks

A Belated Birthday Present

A little poem by Carlos, Madrid

It Is Real

People used to say
grief made them
wash their face
with tears

I thought
that was
exaggerating

Now
I know
it is real

For the same reason
I stop wearing
mascaras
or
eyeshadows

Instead
I keep
my sunglasses on
at all times

Mute

she reminds him of failure
he reminds her of broken promises
it is hard to take a look at each other
and feel the world is a bright place
sometimes love is just fragile like that

Deal Breaker

‘What will be a deal breaker for you?’

Cheaters

Drugs! Guys take drugs

Three of them sip more wine.

Downers! I can’t deal with another downer. I think to myself.

I sip more water from a straw.

The End

I gave you all my springs
and kept all the bitter cold winters
to myself

I kept your silhouette in my mind
after you littered my heart all over
our bed

There was no more of me left
after you swept up everything reassembled the home we once had

I gave you the best of my years
and in the end
I let loneliness stay with me

Privacy Breach

What is the charm in celebrity gossip
It is outright privacy breach

Would you want your off duty life
for the world to critique
Would you want your relationship breakdown
to be the laughing stock
Would you want your childhood trauma
to be the reason people feel grateful for

Why do our privacy matters
and theirs doesn’t
Should there really be an us and them

Giving up

Rain trickles down the window
in the train carriage
The world outside is like
miles away through teary eyes
If life is all about the journey
I wish I could break the window
to taste the rancid of rain
so when the sun comes out again
I would be grateful
But for now
I cannot wait
to get to my destination
in an escape from
this tear soaked life

The Sinister Hunter

They are playing hopscotch
on the marked tarred street
The sun glazes over them
like golden buttered popcorn

He is sipping a carton chocolate milk
The hollow straw gives out a hunger growl
He has to pause the movie
as the desire grows more and more sinister

‘Children! Come on in for a chilled lemonade.
Don’t let the hot sun strike you down.’

They stop hopping to look over
sweat beading down the side of their face
a clown face man on an electric wheelchair
Who will refuse such a kind offer
icy cold lemonade on a hot summer day

They follow his wheelchair down the garden path
smells rotten compost, attracts buzzing flies
His mind is filed with the image of
himself chewing on those golden buttered popcorn
perfect for the Monster House movie
Don’t you think, Children?