Writer’s Note: this poem was originally published in the August 2021 ‘Family’ issue of PopShot magazine. My Father Was An Athlete He ran out of the maternity ward so fast,that he got to the finish line beforeI even opened my eyes for the first time. And every man that came after himTreat us like it… Continue reading My Father Was An Athlete
The Starry Night after Van Gogh It haunts me, the starsyellow eyes peering behind curling clouds, like wild wavesfoaming in my dreams. I wake on the edge, the precipiceof sleep. I turn to the moon for strength but through itsteeth you can hear the sneer. ‘Jump’ whispered in winds.
Speaking In Tongues When I say I’m cleaning what I mean isI’m going to cleanse, wash the whiskey sweatingout of my pores, the smell of bad decisionsand cigarette smoke ingrained into my hair. When I say I have a meeting, I mean I have toget out of bed this week, open the curtainsto the blinding… Continue reading Speaking In Tongues
New Beginnings “But why can’t we all just go together?” Fabiana asks again as she follows her mother around the cramped bedroom the four of them share at grandmas, while mum packs the last of her belongings away into the giant suitcase by the door. Fabiana has spent most of her formative years living with… Continue reading New Beginnings
You say: say what you have to say! But those words echo in my mind because you are not ready for the deafening tone of the words that are spilling out of my eyes and you do not understand what I mean by your eyes make me want to skinny dip in the ocean and… Continue reading Soundless Fights In The Middle Of The Night
If Your Lips Could Speak “I’m so drunk” you said loosely from behind the partially closed door. I laughed, but in reality, I was quite drunk myself. You had chosen the very middle cubicle, the other four doors, two at either side of you, were wide open, and empty. We were completely alone. I was… Continue reading If Your Lips Could Speak
Changing Seasons In a city where every day is a miserable December evening she makes me feel like July.She does to me what summer does to trees dresses my branches in life and colour, andholds my proud roots firmly into the ground. She’s the hot chocolate to my crisp autumn morning, our fingers entwined inside… Continue reading Changing Seasons
Full Moon July 31st, 2002 Today I looked at the white hammock by the bay window in my bedroom, for the first time in 6 months. You named it the ‘half-moon’ when we were kids, before you discovered the word Crescent and vowed to name your first-born child the same. Do you remember? The endless… Continue reading Full Moon
This Tiny Town This tiny townis a thousand tiny towns. It is culture dominated neighbourhoods, and neighbours sharing thousands of cultures. It’s poverty, and petty crimeand dangerous.It’s mass produced children trying to be big,bigger than this tiny town.
Yesterday I smoked poetry, I
rolled metaphors into a blunt
and got high on the first stanza…