waste-landed heart

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Moving Image Courtesy of: wiffles

once upon a time
she hardly remembers,
the girl with tumble weed hair
and rose petal lips
was not afraid of heartbreak.

she kept her head held high
so she could learn
from birds in the sky
how to gently unfurl
the delicate wings encasing
a heart three-sizes too big
for her hope-filled chest
watch her as she breathes in
the meadow-scented winds.

Continue reading “waste-landed heart”

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What of

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what of hope
but empty promises
if you do not
dream of dandelion fields
and look for four-leaf clovers
in pavement cracks
sometimes?
(even though you’ve never seen one)

what of ambition
but unbridled fantasies
if you do not
bellow your wild ideas
to the skies?
(the ones that make
the earth tremble
and the seas part way)

what of love
but heartbreaks and mistakes
if you do not
try to swallow it
but find its fluttery wings
tickling the pit of your stomach
leaving feathers on your tongue
when you least expect it to?
(the 2am I miss yous
and 2.05am tinder convos
tastes strangely like vodka)

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humble wordlings

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to fellow humble wordlings:
I see you.

all paper skin
and glass bones,
directionless,
trying to find home,
do not give up
just yet.

join me
in the search for solace
in tomorrow’s sunlight.
let us
reel in untethered minds
and remind ourselves that
we are seperate
from shadows of the past
and that there is always something more
to look forwards to.


“being bodies that learn language thereby becoming wordings, humans are the symbol-making, symbol-using, symbol-misusing animal, inventor of the negative, separated from our natural condition by instruments of our own making, goaded by the spirit of hierarchy acquiring foreknowledge of death and rotten with perfection.” – Kenneth Burke on what it is to be human

The Combustion Triangle of the Heart

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in a world
without trust,
I will no longer feel the heat of betrayal

in a world
without betrayal,
I will no longer find fuel for hope

in a world
without hope,
I will no longer need to hold my breath

they say fire
needs three elements
to expel the dark

but I’m afraid
that a stray spark
could burn the entire town to the ground

perhaps it is worse,
that nobody can ever wring this wretched heart dry
and I shall drown in this lake named sorrow.

Continue reading “The Combustion Triangle of the Heart”

491 Days at Sea

© Paolo Domeniconi

we are all
flesh and no soul
built weak
dreaming of going to sea
so the waves
may wash away the minutiae
not so we can ‘find ourselves’
but to just be ourselves
won’t you join me,
before the beckoning of the earth
takes hold?

you see,
the ocean is no place to venture alone
I’ll need you to be there
to steer, paddle or shout –
“Land Ahoy!”
as you run about
distracting us from the starless nights
when we can’t help but wonder
if the moon pulls the tides of fate
or if we’ll have to find our own way
in this cold and empty place

unfortunately,
even those at sea
fear inevitability
that, my love,
includes you and me
one day
the monsters will drag us
to the murky depths of abyss
but right now
our fragile bones
are overcome by the silent song
of the salt-stained breeze
they move
because they know the music of life
and you
are enough of an excuse
for another night
on this rickety boat
even though we’re scared?
we’re here

it was 491 days later
before something shifted in the atmosphere
rolling eyes and loud sighs
displaced indestructible sea floors
sharp tongues like whips
cut masts of pride
torrents of heavy words sunk ships
and a tsunami of sky-high idealisations
couldn’t hide the realisation that
it hurts to love with a washed up heart
darling, it was your voice,
not the endless, breathless siren’s song
that reminded me
both the ocean and tears
were not as beautiful
as I imagined

I suppose adventures
don’t make for smooth sailing
but look, the sun is rising
and if you still dare to
brave the scorching days
and relentless rain
won’t you please
kiss my bruises away
and hold me when phantom pain
haunts the moon-lit night?
the waves are calling,
let’s not keep the ocean waiting.

metamorphosis

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once upon a time,
caterpillar thoughts
crawled over restless minds
stirring paper leaves
into a story about a life
that did not blend into the trees
sunlight streamed on her face
and she started to believe
maybe…

yet in the company of others
she felt herself
trapped in the same routine
chewing over unspoken words
cocooning beautiful thoughts
into regurgitated strings of anxiety
drinking 6 bottles of vodka cruisers
to drown her palpitating heart
from fluttering between
not giving a fuck and caring too much
she found herself stuck

but
something was different today
her nightmare-filled breaths
held the faint perfume of waterlogged wings
from trembling lips and strained smile
she spilled a kaleidoscope of butterfly corpses.
hope-blotted wings no longer
flitted through hazy memories
spinning a fantasy
where she could be happy

the sun hid behind the clouds
for the plot did not twist
she should have known
metamorphosis does not occur in reality.

#3 Ode

definition: a lyric poem, typically one in the form of an address to a particular subject, written in varied or irregular metre (a classical poem of a kind originally meant to be sung)


Mayflies.

Mayflies spend a year awaiting their birth, and then most die after living just one day. Their sole purpose is to pass on their genes.

we all are born
bright eyed like mayflies
on a linear path
to our own demise
no purpose but to 

die 

but that doesn’t mean we won’t
try find meaning to a short lived life
no time to cry
fly towards the light
quickly, before –
good night.


Leaves.

if my hope for humanity
had to be stored somewhere
I would place it
in a seed
planted into the palms of lovers
entwined love
grows a giant oak tree
eve’s apple
bleeds humanity
yet
I see some leaves are caressed by the sun
while others

   a

       l

          l
silently
littering roadsides,
trampled over,
so carelessly
even though the shared roots suggest
we are all children from the same family tree


#1 #2 #3

#1 Staccato

definition: with each sound or note sharply detached or separated from the others


Map.

no map

no direction 

but surely that means 

anywhere I place my next step

I will be on the right path.


Hope.

hope is in the crowds

in the eyes of those who have the potential

to be wise, to be honest, to be kind

but also the capacity

to hate, to torture, to rape 

I am reflected in their pupils

staring back, I realise

my fate

is mine to create.


#1 #2 #3