In The Undercurrent

It’s almost as if someone forgot to turn the radio off.

Not in this room

but the one across the hall or down the corridor,

a somewhere that can’t be found

no matter how many corners I check.

The distance turns voices to static,

punctured with partial comments

slipping between floorboard

like strings of mist on summer mornings.

Even if I press my ear to the wallpaper

I still can’t link the lines into one another.

The harder I try

the deeper the crackle in the speakers.

If I busy myself,

turn the dishwasher on,

boil the kettle,

fill the house with the rattle and clatter of things needing to be done,

I might just stand a chance.

A hiccup in the warble leaves a sentence

pressed against my ear,

burrowing its way through

to find the next line

in the dark of the grey matter inside.

All the while the radio continues playing

in a room I cannot find.


Daily Post: Constant

One Step Closer

If you can knock the mud from you boots

and plant them another step,

I will do the same.

There are blister and splinters in these fingers

but they can managed one more rung.

Lend me your lungs

and I’ll give you my breath.

It’s not quite meeting in the middle

but we’re also not finished yet.


Daily Post: Compromise

I write a post about not using rhyme very often in my poetry and now I end up writing a rhyme filled poem. How’s that for irony?

Past, Present, Future

Present tends to become past

before I notice its arrival.

I am so busy mulling the future,

distilling down the possible problems that tomorrow could bring

that I don’t hear the doorbell ringing.

Now becomes then

and I’ve already skipped ahead

to try and read the ending

so present in stuck somewhere between the previous pages

where I’m not looking.


Daily Post: Present

A Well Worn Inheritance

If courage is something we inherit

then mine was already battle scarred

the day my parents sewed it into my blood.

Whenever I have to reach for it

I reread the fingerprints bruised along its flesh

from worried hands that clutched it close

seeking reassurance.

The beatings haven’t made it fragile.

Instead it’s more like leather,

worked until it bends softly beneath pressure

but refusing to break.

More often than not I wrap it around my joints

in the hope it will support knees

elbows

aching wrists

when I force them to lift me a little higher.

I cannot hide myself completely

beneath its folds

as all armour has its chinks.

Instead I protect myself as best I can,

tuck in the frayed edges,

darn the patches when they come loose

and try to add something of mine

that I can pass on

when it becomes time.


Daily Post: Courage