Infliction (poem)

How cruel are the lovers to the hearts they fight,
how cruel are the lovers to the others in the heat of the night.

So content in controlling the misery of the day,
we forget the memories we bulldoze along the way.

I seek the reasons in answers I do not want to hear,
speaking of a love we longer truly hold dear.

The day has arrived, the pain is right on time;
how can you prolong it’s infliction this time?

Bedsheets (poem)

One minute your hands are clutching onto bamboo,
slurping on tip tops – debating on what to do;
not with ourselves but with the time at hand,
when you could afford not to plan.

The past seems lost in your bedsheets,
as if it slipped away just last night-
the half-hearted goodbyes at the school gates
were a slow welcome to the rest of your life.

To yearn for something you can never relive,
for an ignorant peace no tomorrow can give-
when everything and everyone was so sweet;
our memories are our only retreat.

The future seemingly bitter, the past so sweet-
tomorrows who dare not to compete.
I will try with all my might,
to seal optimism from the sheets in the night.


Wonder boy (poem)

My wonder boy, with blue in your eyes-
I often recall the night of your first cries,
and I never forgot the first of our goodbyes.

The rubble will pose you with questions-
you may never find the answer for,
but wonder boy, disregard the lies-
just remember the door.

I do not know what you have taken away,
but I hope what is of me, will stay.

What stands between will never wear away-
what stood before,
I still love you wonder boy,
and always more than before.

Nostalgia is a cancer (poem)

I believed you never grew accustomed to the waves
my city could never mold to the way you behave-
only a fool like me would worship your memory like a slave.

Nostalgia is a cancer and coincidences are chemo,
I will align the stars and pray for the universe to follow-
only when you have been full then can you understand a depth so hollow.

I have written your apologies in my day dreams-
in scenarios drenched with silly and sublime,
pathetic has never struggled under so much weight-
oh to carry a love, abandoned by so much hate.

The Acts of Union

I love watching the smoke plume from your lips,
it rises in the air, as my hands gravitate toward your hips-
it is nightfall and we are the lunar eclipse,
our kisses become a one-way rocketship.

Slender and significant, magnetic and magnificent-
so intertwined, our shadows share a holy commitment.
Dulcet tones and hand-pressed tailbones,
there is no pleasure comparable to this when we are alone.

An act historic yet a union so freshly euphoric,
painters and poets choose wisely with their hands,
plume smoke from your lips-
and we shall see where their fingertips land.

Cokehead Collective (poem)

It’s the cokehead collective and the inked up side-chicks,
all destined to be where they are, no doubt about it.
The banter brewery has never sold so much stock,
flogging feathers to every chicken head who wants to be the cock of the walk.

It’s good to have money, but your friends’ money is nicer,
prowling between tables, you white nosed tiger-
can’t tell if you’re my friend or a good liar,
can’t tell if you’re my friend or just the supplier.

The sailors, in chuck taylors,
exchanging favors,
it’s all the same shit-
just different flavours.

Nothing bends a bond like distance and time,
nothing solidifies a bond like drugs and wine,
nothing is a bond if money controls the supply line.

Can’t tell if you’re my friend.

A love sublime (poem)

Dearest, sweetest, oh the loveliest-
the lack of pen; it is not a tale of a love subdued
waiting for the scholars to still define you.
Your frame, the way your words seem to glide-
through my ears, icing my soul and persuading my heart not to die.

There is no other to the feeling of your fingertips dancing on my spine;
I think of no worry, I think of no darkness – hell, there is no time.
The lighthouse, the candle, the sun, the torch, the glow-
how you encompass all this, a mystery a heart will never know.

There is no sweeter thing that the just because,
a love that begs no reason,
a love that abides by no days or time,
our love is just because-
no orchestration in a love sublime.