Poems for overthinkers

A few recent poems I penned

Thoughts. They fill you with so much yet often contribute so little. So it seems to me sometimes. Contemplation seems to cripple way more often than it comforts.

Are you an overthinker?

I am prone to it and it is a vice I wish I didn’t have. How wonderful it must be to meet each day on its own terms - a new blind date!

But it’s human nature to try and dissect, make sense of, reason, solve….

One of the reasons I write poems is as a therapy. After all it’s free. Why not?

So, allow me to present some of my recent therapy sessions…..😂

The Dome

I sometimes feel I am a cake

Under a smooth glass dome

The colours there for all to see

My layers left alone

.

And how to lift this heavy weight

That stops you drawing near

The barrier I’ve come to hate

When otherwise, it’s clear

.

I stay on view as passers by

Walk steadily on home

I watch with greed their apple pie

Captive, from my dome.

My Future Self

My future self owns all she has

But doesn’t have a lot

She’s learned possessions weigh her down

And so, she’d rather not

Her house is small and simple

With an endless view of sea

The rooms are bright and airy

Full of possibility

.

My future self lives on her own

Except maybe for a cat

Her lover lives a few doors down

And he’s okay with that

There are dinner dates and sleepovers

But never expectation

Sex, a wondrous joy that’s shared

And not an obligation

.

My future self will order flowers

And watch the neighbours stare

As she gasps; “Are those for me?

How nice that someone cares!”

She’ll kiss shopping lists with lipstick

To remind her not to buy

Crappy food that makes her sick

And cheap wine that makes her cry

.

My future self takes barefoot walks

Conversing with the night

On moonlit flooded cliffs, she’ll talk

To screeching owls in flight

She will not care to tell a soul

Exactly where she’ll go

It’s no-one else’s business

And besides…..how could she know?

Blank

I want to talk to you sometimes

But….. I’m blank

A vase without flowers

Empty

Except for the air that fills me

Which is everything…….and nothing

The Road

Here we are again…..The Road.

Mind, a plough of mapped out stars

Carrying the Mother load

Mood of Venus, wrath of Mars…

I spot your smoked quartz car alight 

Climb in, greet my keen chauffeur 

We pluck a chance from bloom of night 

Metre clocking tender air

Your words infuse me….spinning kiss

Champagne-shake me to a whir

How I sparkle on the fizz!

Bubbles cause my pain to blur

Then, begins the fall to earth 

The cryptic codes you dare not waste

Fierce rain lashes planted worth

Connection lost, a spat out taste

Lastly, moral-iced goodbye

Perplexed, I’m injured in the road

As you commute to bridge of sighs 

I’m off to face the Mother load……

View

I rent the cusp of horseshoe moons

To better see my hanging place

Hitch time on gypsy caravans

Roam dewy lanes at snail pace

I animate the sleeping swans

Retrace their necks as shrines of salt

Wake waltzes born of lustrous mouths

As alleys squint their squatting fault

Your trenches bite as shallow graves

Devouring futures with their still

Brown foams the stew of bored boil

The wishes, solid kisses kill

Slow Fade

It happened very gradually

The way a jumper fades

A pigment, bold and beautiful

Slips into paler shades

One too many washes

In the ditch of daily grind

The clumsiness of sloshes

Hidden dirt we had to find

Does every carbonated love

Become still lemonade?

The gas removed, the movement lost

The taste of magic weighed?

How do we stop the cycles

That wring away the bright?

Stretch and shrink our decent fit

Steal our perfect white?

Now I connect you with the grey

This prison that I made

Like a dodgy eighties pop song

We peter to slow fade.

The room of you

I stumbled on a room of you

I could not leave it closed

Your curious perfume, it blew in

Like no other rose

I breathed in deep, the blushing weep

Became my only air

But it’s a love I could not keep

Now I’m a prisoner there.

My Star

A bored sky hung my reels before me….

Bickering circuses, stabbing truths, 

Red velvet mornings, sanded nothings

Time’s lense marled and marbled them

Attempting to disguise and blend

The way gloops of custard

Smock flecks of tell-tale burnt 

I looked on…..

As ruthless heavens hurled my star

Into a slop of inconsistent weather 

She caught each rice coloured cloud 

The way rough heels pluck silk 

Hitting every pronged tree

That lay in wait with greedy branches 

They bruised her silver, blunted edges

Dinting the image I’d held so dear….

Finally, she landed, 

Penny-arcade like at my feet

Fresh and shining.

“Here I am, you can play again.”

The boy

At the station with his dad

Milk and cookie dormouse child

Plump and pale, oversized doll

Rose nose whiskers freckled mild

He wobbles Nursery junket cheeks

Hair, a ginger pudding bowl

Strokes passing worlds he cannot reach

Tasting static with his tongue

Calm eyes - both paint and brush - glaze tracks

A stickiness that coats the air

An apricot that jars his mask

Has insects amber in his stare

.

His father…..capped, a patient man

Wears resolution on his face

A shirt of dove, collarless white

Becomes a bag for wind to chase

I saw it bloom as risen bread

A playful sail of blousy yacht

He clutched his son, a clockwork toy

Two antiques modern life forgot

I watched the platform as a play

Our auras smudged, I felt them near

A postcard chewing up my thoughts

White throated waves, a dwindling pier.