Bleak love poetry for a full moon

Poems to indulge your brooding, mistreated heart.

Gravel path

Romance is waiting tragedy

That’s the stark reality

Each time I think I’ve found someone

A warmth within the cavity

Something stops it happening

The reel of love unraveling

Best I can do is mend my shoes

The gravel path is beckoning

Not Yours

What am I now, if I’m not yours?

Where do I find my rising sun?

My north, my rain, my joy and pain

The reason to get out of bed?

I cut, I bleed, it does not heal

I cannot taste, I fail to feel

Who am I now, if not the girl

Who finds her bearing in your eyes?

How do I build myself a boat

To sail away to sunny climes?

Where do I source the nails that mend,

Wood that bends but does not break?

The beach that holds a billion grains

The warmest sand, the gentlest waves?

I wish I knew what I could do

To moor upon such tender shores

But all I do know to be true

Is you are gone and I’m not yours.

The Ghosts of a Toy Box

He was somebody’s teddy, there for her dark moments

But what did he get for his loyalty? Torment

Tossed out of bed for the shiny and new

Stuffing knocked out of his little bear blue

Found himself next to a prim ballerina

Back in his bearhood, recalled that he’d seen her

The music box lady who struck perfect poses

Summoning smiles sure as summer calls roses

Until one day the notes started playing off key

She struggled to dance to a warped melody

The box was slammed shut, she was jailed in red plush

Alone with a mirror to capture frustration

They hear wooden trains rattle, tin soldiers do battle

The chewed plastic farmer calls home his lost cattle

We all end up the same, have our day in the sun

To be one day discarded for playthings more fun

And I’m patched up and tattered, crude Rag Dolly Anna

Made better with ribbon to cover rogue stitches

For riches are sewn in my memory as treasure

One blossom filled April, was played with forever

Wore fabulous dresses, red bloom in my tresses

Rose tints in my cheeks from the wind’s whispered wishes

I was loved like a Friday and sung like a Carol

I lassoed the sky like a shrieking tin whistle

But people replace what they’ve worn out or broken

The ghosts of a toy box have finally spoken

Move On

‘Move on’ he says

Like it’s a choice

Like wearing pink

Or eating toast

Or taking bins out

Washing up

Slurping pale

Luke warm tea

But

Paralysed

Is how I feel

Frozen February canal

And what if I

Just want to live

Within his ice

For one more day?

Trace the footprint

Numb on snow

Hear monologues

With little point

Rambling to

Empty rooms

Lone sparrow

Balanced on a wire

A shivering child

In draining bath

A clueless crossword

Plotless soap

The heap of laundry

On the stairs

What if I

Just want to fade

Be swallowed

By stale, mundane air

What if I enjoy

The taste of death

That furs

My swelling tongue?

The smart of sour

Smacking my lips

As monsoons dwell

In pepper eyes?

Idle hands

That have no work

A burning chest

A milk churn mind

The cracking of

The whip of “why?”

That flogs my

Salted, tortured soul

I catch my breath

As horses draw

My innards to

His chariot jolts

Move up!

Move down!

Move all around!

High in the sky

Rock bottom, ground!

But ‘on’?

I can’t get ‘off’ the ride!

I’m raw and ringing

Trapped inside

My body’s hot

My face is wet

Here I remain

In stone, I’m set.

I can’t move on

And this he knows

He is the scent

Of every rose

The tingling dew

On blades of grass

The castle baked

In every cloud

I can’t move on

He knows!

HE KNOWS!

So, here I stay

And ‘on’ he goes