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There is magic in my lungs
my heart is a cathedral
my tears are waterfalls
my hair is salty and bitter
my knees have scraped
against the hard grain of rigour
they hold the valleys of the world
my hands carve its timber
my brain holds a treasure
existence in a pool
fed by blood so rich
my golden regal tooth
my soul screams the loudest
if I listen to its tune
a hear the golden cymbals
I feel all life illume
Blue.
A match strikes in the dark,
cackles to life
in warmth and an orange-yellow glow
with force assured and
true.
Moving tongues of a young couple
intertwined in an embrace,
licking;
in the morning,
the sun will rise, in the morning.
A sigh. A smoky breath.
Don’t speak
a word.
Your body line
is in my caress.
remember,
blue is the colour of the morning;
sunstreaks,
matches snuffed,
crumbling.
There is a spring in every-one
A deep in-dwelling it is traced
You can describe it as your heart
But skin and hearts don’t see His face
So when the lady clothed in blue
To a peasant girl in France appeared
And told her with a voice so true
A spring she’ll dig with many tears
Though one she’ll dig without a clue
Many men were angry so
Of hearts cold like stone and heavy
In disbelief they pressed for facts
And terrified poor Bernadette
And at the end of inquisition
All that lay was their perdition
Still she dug and stained her hands
Even drinking of that water
If water were mud and full of germs
And gives a dose of choleric asthma
But that’s okay since her story ends
With life abundant in His hands
So goes with St Bernadette and
Her handy little well in France
Of whom a believer so lackluster
Can receive a healing power
It is a simple testament
A grace so universally given
In your hearts spring a germination
As Eden grows anew within
Spring forth- His life a well to drink
So when He asks if you would be well
I’d say wash me all over and not just-
My feet, accepting my cross tomorrow, today
Trembling hands
suffocated breath
Whispered words
faltering fingers
Ticking clock
Voiceless noise
ears ringing
Sweaty body
dusty feet
crowded house
nondescript voice
Strained cords
godless dream
Godly scene
Paralytic man
saying words
Inner vision
by
When I woke up this afternoon, my rumbling stomach told me
that I was hungry. My hunger told me that I needed food
and my thirst told me that I needed water. First, I leapt out
of bed because the streaks of sunlight through my window were boiling my legs
then I drank too much water and coughed. It made my tummy feel sick.
Then I thought about it and rubbed my rested eyes. To do it all over again.
But you know, stomach pains remind me of a happy stomach.
Sometimes I wake up and look at myself in the mirror
then I tell myself that I look good, just because. Hungry and disheveled.
Even though sometimes I actually don’t feel like it. Hey I woke up.
So, here’s to you, just about. God loves you!
Ps. I went back to sleep.
Neither height nor depth, nor anything else in all creation can separate us from the love of God that is in Jesus Christ our Lord — Romans 8:39
The night is pitch black
Yet spotted by brilliant stars
Awaiting the day
Friendships I treasure
Texting throughout nights like these
Occur less and less
Words protect this self
Until the night is over
When bread is broken
—after Selfless by The Strokes
I felt that, when you whispered life
from way back when, before it is.
I know that you say it now too,
like in sprinkles, all varied but short
and it all feels so decadent but
without the cream, all fallen and I
am missing. The sticks of will
in wafer goodness, sweet to die
in a world where you are not for
the life of me and all for tasting You.
by
She
leaves me
feeling
I cannot
help myself
breaking
pieces
broken
they
fold and fold
into each other
pressed
palpitation
twists
every beat
until it clicks
and I cannot
contain
the feeling
that
she left
me
Hi,
things changed.
I don’t look at the moon,
I can’t remember its face
nor her ravishing-
melodies.
A useless waterfall,
moondrops stain my bedsheets
and bleed into the decor
silently.
I hear the sounds
long after forgetting.
A phone contact
I shouldn’t be
calling.
I can’t stop thinking
the sonata
diminuendos.
Everytime.
Green light casts itself upon the altar
a deep mystery shelters in glistening pearls
quietly, amongst the luminescence
I lay down my rosary and say
“Take this cup from me” and
“I am willing to drink”
at the same time
Everything is painted phosphor
even in me, there is a shard
embedded deep inside, a piece
deep in my flesh- yet immaterial-
of Godliness, a thorn
belonging to Jesus
it shines
It says, “Do not be afraid,
“to look at Him. Look!
“Look attentively, and you will see
“the face of God.”
So, I looked, and I gasped
and will forever remain
uncomfortable
But I am confident
that although I sit in the dark
there with her shawl
there with his tools
I am not alone
and I am happy
for He is patient
“I thirst.”
I know what it feels like to have your poetry called vomit.
On the of-chance they like it, there’s always a “but I don’t get it”.
Deep down, I know that they are right. That I suck, that I’m clueless.
I don’t get it, I know.
I don’t have talent, I know. I don’t have that special feeling.
I know what I try doesn’t work.
They can’t feel what’s inside:
The twinkling in the corner of my eye when I’ve lost someone
or The supernova of screams when I walk past that someone
the emotions: awkward, lonely, scared, frightened, seeking for approval, sad
I can’t find the words. I only know that it’s still shit. it’s shit, I need to try harder, read more, and practice, practice. A slave to beauty, forever begging for someone to say I’m loved.
I KNOW
It’s okay. I’ll do it right.
I’ll get it right sometime.
Just maybe not tonight. quivers and ink. tip, felt and all.
Nothing may change. vomit, shit and all.
drawing heart shapes lackadaisically. just maybe, that’s alright.
When I look at the world through the eyes of my screens,
all I see are dark clouds swirling here and in the distance
though they may be far away, I can’t help but feel
that a hurricane there means a monsoon here.
Rain and clouds litter the day as if to fluff shut our eyes,
to suffocate them from the existence of stars at night
and I am tempted to favour the glow of my phone’s LED,
to trust and remain with what I prefer to see.
Recently, I took a morning jog, along a reservoir stretch;
I saw the sun, peeking through the foliage, half-hiding
as if excited at the prospect of a new day of sunshine.
I saw it with my own eyes and it was quite beautiful,
not the sun, not directly, but the yellow streaks of light shooting
through the morning dew, across the water, from the other side.
Jsolitaire Writing & Poetry 