London Poem: Day 119

14 December

The long haul won –
Naturally sick and miserable,
And largely unable to justify
Pre-existing apprehension.
Welcome home!
Here is longing,
But, strength will be excluded.
I need you here.
You are my strength,
My knowing I can persevere.
A handful of days separate that,
But for the heart: yearning.
those few days seem to separate
Me from eternity.

London Poem: Day 118

13 December

I’m apprehensive –
Moving with short strides
To delay the inevitable
Transit back.
Time carries memory,
So as we recall the past
We miss the future,
And I must ask:
How am I to fit into the
Present, while the life
Between has eluded me?
We can live lost in what is
Unalterable for a while yet,
But there are still tasteless
Memories lost on me, and I’ll
Convince myself of he flavor,
In order to stall the process
Of decay. We are given to have
Taken away, and it goes on
Until we ourselves are taken away.

London Poem: Day 117

12 December

The long flight tomorrow –
Being swept away into dreary skies.
It may be the sky that is dreary,
But the place in which the sky separates.
Forced to return to a life
Far removed,
What will break, me or the world?
I can scarcely recall
Where I was when I left,
All that lives is what is now.
But, I’ll be returning
In the same way that I left:
Loving you and the life
I moved for.

London Poem: Day 116

11 December

In the night,
Soft lines lead east and west,
Folding into each other,
And swallowing all of the places
In between.
Finally, by the sea
With the wind swirling and flapping
And the street glistening beneath,
We follow the light.
How serene it seems,
Through whatever weather lives behind
These simple sullen lights.
Humming like angels breath
Are voices carrying on
Into the late hours,
But wait and catch it
As it comes because if you
Search for it, it is
Bound to pass you by.

London Poem: Day 115

10 December

The room fills slowly
People standing in broken
Circles as hot hair fills
The leftover spaces.
It begins with false climaxes –
Building and bursting
Before anything begins.
As we sit and watch,
And words slip into the
Receding conversations,
We grow.
Soft hand in soft hand
Words spilling over the top,
we bend to fit.
After the drama, I stand,
Looking into your eyes,
The words come and
I move towards the world
I want, through the eyes
That make up the world I want.

London Poem: Day 114

9 December

Calm and without worry,
Whatever hovered over
Slipped off, and vanished,
As I did the same, in the night,
To find you.
I hastened my pace,
And as I walked I found
That my feelings are not yours,
And yours are not mine,
But to meet in the middle,
To find balance that will
Carry us the rest of the way.
So, this urgency that carries
Me home, find it and let out
Heartbeats be the path
That takes us there.

London Poem: Day 113

8 December

We are all fragile,
Empty containers balancing
On some edge, with gravity’s
Undeniable pull tugging at
Destruction. We’re lead by
Nature’s design, the lull
Going unseen, believing the
Mantra you whisper to yourself:
“It couldn’t happen to us.”
But, it is and I’m fighting –
I want to see tomorrow,
To feel the comfort of you
And what it means to see
Another day, where we are.
I keep inching closer to
The edge, the pull too
Much to bear.
So, help me and we will
Defy nature together –
With every turn, we draw
Further away. So, if I get too far,
Pull me back, and give me
One more day.

London Poem: Day 112

7 December

Which words are true?
Blinking bright, their shapes
May not mean the same to you,
But language is shared
And we,
The sounds
Of what you mean, and what I thought.
There is deception in withholding
So what is it living behind your back?
There is so much lost in silence,
But what is concealed doesn’t
Hurt, and lying because it
Doesn’t exist.

London Poem: Day 111

6 December

Let us become wide, sprawling spaces,
Where the life at hand becomes
As it pleases.
The world comes and goes,
Blowing through in the
Wind’s soft breaths
We shape from our own
Doing and undoing.
The thin fabric is woven,
Cross-hatched, unaccustomed
To Wanderers,
More susceptible to unthreading.
It’s rare, however, to get
Those lost feet trodding carelessly,
Pulling up our crafty work.
So, I ask, let us disappear
Into the wild unknown
And take our chances.

London Poem: Day 110

5 December

The two of us caught
In childish games,
Laughing and drinking.
The night falls down
In scooping hands
And we pick it up,
Pouring another glassful.
We are the lives living
Between two ends –
One day blurred into
Other memories, to
Become of other worlds.
It is no matter, really;
They live, and we
Are laughing.