i’m sorry

i’m sorry i left you behind
excuses are not enough
for you, and although i have grown
i have never forgotten our pages, i may have chosen
different stages but i see the shadow i see the ghost
dancing to someone else’s lines and i know it’s time to return

i don’t want to make a big fuss of this return
as a writer i should’ve never left the page behind
but it’s not the first time, i’ve seen ghosts
rise before, the greats before our time they were enough
the must be because they’re the chosen
ones we’re told to study they helped me grow

into the writer i am most days, they helped me grow
my words into stories and return
to sanity when i have chosen
the wrong path to wander, does poetry leave me behind?
no. so why can i not keep going long enough
i dreamt of a ghost

writing beautiful sonnets, but the ghost
wasn’t scary because it was me, growing
into a routine is hard all i can think is am i doing enough?
what if i don’t return
and fall behind
the curve of poetry, it’s my choice i have chosen

to write to imagine to choose
and create paths that don’t exist i wander along lines in a poem like a ghost
drifting trying to not get left behind
i have grown
cold in recent years, but i will always return
to poetry, it holds me, calms me it’s enough

to stop me going back to dangerous days, enough
to be my chosen
love of writing, when i return
it’s like i never left, the ghost
sits in the corner waiting to see if i’ll give up again, but he doesn’t know i’m grown
i’m older now, i fall behind

i can’t say enough how long i’ve wanted to return
i don’t want to get left behind but it’s me that’s chosen
now i’m just a ghost that’s growing
in the background and showing poems to any that will listen, at least that’s what i envision

superstition

why does it always seem to rain on me
like a black cloud floats above my head
trying to trip me up
wishing me dead
if the sun tries to push through the clouds
i’ll hear no noise

now, when i wake i listen for a noise
i’m careful to breathe slow, for me
i like to walk under clouds
but when i feel a drop on my head
i wonder what it’s like to be dead
somewhere up

high wondering why it was my time to be lifted up
to be taken from the noise
the superstitious sounds of the dead
walking amongst us is fine with me
but what scratches my head
is the clouds

circling the sky, somedays i float like a cloud
i’m working my way up
to you, when our heads
meet again, there will be no noise
but me
and my weary body will lay down dead

before you, when you died
i couldn’t look at the clouds
i was scared they were following me
i didn’t think it was my time to go up
there was too much noise
down here, it gives me a head

ache, i have a worry growing in my head
it follows me around and wishes me dead
it makes a noise
cuts clouds
in half, i push up
towards you, get ready to receive me

you’re a permanent noise in my head
you might be dead but you never left me
you just went up to the clouds higher than the ground

drug of choice

drug of choice
is always craving
one more line
another square
shove a metaphor
in somewhere round here
a hidden double meaning if you can
wait
stay where you are
there’s plenty more

the letter

a letter fell through the letterbox today
landed lightly on the mat
without a sound
but i knew it was from you

a white envelope without a stamp
neatly typed out address
with ‘Melly’ at the centre
that’s what you used to call me

i tried to be careful not to damage anything
but i tore the envelope apart to reveal
an A5 sheet of paper with your words on

it read:

don’t be surprised to hear
that we act as a trio from the sky near here
we can see when you fear
what’s ahead of you melly
but there’s no need to worry
we know from experience that life is no hurry
take your time, you’ll figure it out
and we’ll be waiting to meet again
when the time is right
and we can’t to hear the tales
of life you’ll have to share,
so when you’re ready we’ll meet you there

i felt a tug at my heart
like a chord being pulled
to turn the bathroom light on
but no one was home

there was no sign off
no sender address
i suppose royal mail don’t operate in heaven
their busiest branch
would be most popular

i folded the note 3 times
and planted it under a tree
now we can grow together

bagpipes in the sky

it’s hard to believe
that eleven long years
have passed since we last saw you

i have picked up a pen
a laptop my typewriter
many times to write you a letter

but it came back returned to sender

last night you floated to me in a dream
and it’s like you had always been
sat in your armchair
you asked how I’d been
and we spoke about the future
then it became clearer
when i woke up from a deep slumber

you missed birthdays christmas anniversarys
i’m sure you saw it all from your seat in the sky
it doesn’t compare to hearing your jokes
your laughter and smiling face

they say it gets easier, they’re wrong
it never gets easier, we just think of you
a little more each day
and until we can reunite
i’ll picture you leading the band with your bagpipes in the sky

broccoli lane

between the cluster of trees
is where i long to be
floating somewhere between ground and sky
above but not below
within yet without
in a dreaming circle of lines and squares
i pass by broccoli lane
in a haze
but there couldn’t be a moment
where i’d miss your face
skies are only blue because you’re standing under them
but when the sun sets
and it’s just a fading streetlight
we’ll be two stars lost in the night

if i never said goodbye

i could undo a life in hours if i never said goodbye

at that frosted mossy window
you hated the way i could see in
and you could barely see out past the carpark

but i waited minutes hours days
i traded stories with other worried relatives

you were a bundle of blankets
and cups of tea sipped gently through straws
because you’d already lost your teeth

and i was so glad you slept soundly
and didn’t hear the old man singing loudly
for it wasn’t your taste of music nor mine
so i lived back and forth from bed to cafe

the one day i had a lecture i needed to go
was when the phone call came no
you didn’t make it and you were gone that insant
and i’m sorry to all if i appeared distant

but one is suddenly ripped from your grasp
it’s like losing your footing on a stair that isn’t there

when i notice an orb or a shadow
i wonder if i will touch some face i recognise
or maybe you’ll choose an elaborate disguise

when our reunion comes to be,
don’t worry Grandma,
i’ll be standing at the gates with your tea

next year i’ll

next year

i’ll remember to take photos

of every moment

as with each passing year

your memory fades a little bit more

special moments turn into blurred montages

at the end of the movie

as the credits roll in for this year

i want to look ahead

i won’t sit in troubled silence again

why do you run

why do you run when i say
i’m scared of dying
taking my last step on a dark
staircase lights fade one last time
leave me in a place of nightmares
where i might encounter a familiar face

i used to paint your face
whilst daydreaming about what i’d say
the next time i saw you, i did have nightmares
that you wouldn’t remember me and i’d see you dying
all over again like time
had stood still in the dark

these past 3 years have felt lile the darkest
pain, but just to see your face
only one more time
and all the pain would be worth it, i could say
i’d forget my fear of dying
but nightmares

have a way of finding me, nightmares
aren’t afraid of the dark
they’re not worried about dying
they’ll always be written on someone else’s face
but i’m sorry i couldn’t say
that when it’s my time

to be called home, when the time
comes and the clock no longer ticks, silenced nightmares
i hope you’ll say
there will be a good day when the dark
ones pass, memorise every inch of my face
now, because darling we all die
a little every day

i wonder what happens when you die
as long as i have time
to say goodbye, think of all the faces
gone by that visit us in dreams and nightmares
that only come out after dark
they just want to say

that faces still sail after death
they say it all gets easier with time
and nightmares are just thoughts in the dark

it’s just another day

there was something in the air
a whisper of wind
a ray of sunshine
green grass holding onto picnics
i see your face in the trunk of a tree
but it’s just another day

i have a letter on the mantelpiece
i’ve just remembered
i never posted it to you
but what’s the hurry
when strikes are lining
both sides of the streets
it’s just another day

when i walk slightly off pace
along a troubled path
that they never could fix
and cracks greet leaves
that fell their own way
it’s just another day

a lid of a pen
a rubber from the end of a pencil
a plug without a socket
it’s just not my day today