My dear bird,
I have built us a home
With wood, dry leaves and marbles
Windows that look out to the sea,
And a backyard laced by mountains
There is minty tea, a warm fireplace,
For your tired feet my ottoman waits.
When the future weighs you down, dove,
When past ghosts your mind, come,
I built this warm cottage
On a timeless soil,
My dear bird,
Dear garden of weeds,
The tuliped heads of your young
Sway in this breeze,
Troubled by the mist
That rises from the icy sea.
Kind mother, pick them one by one
And put them to sleep,
Hush, dear garden,
And sew them in a golden wreath.
Cheap pleasure is your perfume
in my breath
Cheap pleasure is your body
lying in a dream in my bed.
Cheap pleasure is the cigarette stub
we shared when we first met.
Cheap pleasure is love, they say,
between two men.
Pops like stars
in my delectable
~ found poetry from pages of ‘My Manchester, Student Guide’
You took my soul and
tied it like a white screen
between two trees, then,
sat on your hammock and watched
as many rosy films
as you pleased!
When elves visited Aunt Mary’s hut
She laid the table with fruit, rum-and-milk, biscuits with nut
All aligned in queues on two sides,
Unless all off the teapoy’s short leg slides,
Gone with a fault in the carpenter’s cut!
I now travel empty-handed
and with no luggage
but I carry my heart
Like a fat plump suitcase
some tickets and trinkets.
Pray, listen to me, dear
It has been so long a summer,
Can you not spare me a yellow evening, or a
Night below the stolen stars?
I long to spend hours talking of the world with you, under
Candle-light eating cherry tarts.
your face is the silver coin,
with which I mint milky memories;
they rage against my savage mind,
and put me to sleep.
Come, draw me a bath
I can drain my secrets in
None must know I drink.