Sunday, 15 November 2009


I lie in a foetal fold,

Still born, still as a pillar,

A cold heavy stone,

Unmoved by my existence


Slow eyes roam to find a connection,

My stamp of identity in the empty objects about me,

Seeking understanding

In the pages of books, in the picture of the nude woman

Pinned to the wall,

Until I am


A fist of poppies exclaim on my desk,

Their angry red shouts in this muted space

And force me into feeling;

An ache of somewhere else.

Full of dying life

Their green stems bend in defeat.


Outside, sick leaves thick with old rain

 Stick to a numb ground,

Bruised and useless.

The light is difficult, a brash intrusion,

I close the blind on the day,

Too grey, already read,

A tired repeat.


The poppies call your name,

And I remember you like a wound,

A gaping absence,

Ellipsis cracks

An ugly smile,

Its toothless grin mouths me in,

The black gap roars