Thursday, 18 July 2019

cycling to work

I thought about writing a new poem for you
I thought about the terra incognita I'd travelled to with you
I thought about the poems I'd written in Portugal about being half awake and half asleep
I thought about being half present when cycling uphill to work and seeing two dead moths on the side of the road within five seconds
I thought about climate change, if the moths had been killed by the cars
I thought about you and I battling through the elements to get to work and how that was a metaphor for so much more
I thought about the new cyclists on the road now the mornings were light and warm
I thought about sea levels rising and what you'll look like when you're pregnant
I thought about early nights and lie ins in our new house
I thought about playing with your hair and how much you like it
I thought about how different the world looks now
I thought about how that could be ambiguous but what I mean is the whole earth taking a new shape and being carved by the bigger picture happening above our heads and below our feet and around us
I thought about how different the world would look in 20 years time but I also thought about how some things might look the same, your hair still between my fingers, your cheekbones still protruding at the same angle
I thought about fishing nets catching things they can't sell and throwing these dead animals back in the sea
I thought about waking up next to you and you waking up next to me

Tuesday, 18 June 2019

some new things began to make me feel sick like:
the word boyfriend or stories from the past
but also
sentences written in swedish and gaining four more vowels.

the word klimatförändring made me feel nauseous,
that picture of ice in Greenland covered in blue water,
the thought of all of it coming and washing us away
while I was too busy obsessing over the sweeping sensation of jealousy in my chest to register the sea water seeping up around my shoes.

do I not watch the news? do I not listen to you?

Sunday, 28 April 2019

Friday, 26 April 2019

my life changed so drastically in the last few years - didn’t they all for all of us reaching the perceived perfection of the mid to end twenties but
Hear me out please you need to hear
There became a time where I needed the noise of the television to distract my thoughts
There became a time where I needed the noise of the radio to help me sleep at night and now

I don’t know
I’m turning thirty what do I need I need
You here next to me I need
Your voice in my ear I need songs from my phone to drown out the drone I’m sick

Of waiting I’m done with trying I’m full to the brim of all that shit - we’re not trying!!! - I need I don’t need radio I need I don’t need tele I need I need I need you

Wednesday, 24 April 2019

I woke up an hour earlier than I needed to today. Looked out of the window. Sky was grey. When you say you're falling in love, what do you mean? That the plants, trees and animals suddenly convey more? That bus rides you take riding by the window warm your heart like never before? I want you to look out of the window and think of me. I want to be the window, seat, floor, handrails, the stop button you press. I want to be the bus stop where you get on and the bus stop where you get off. I want to be the pavement you step on, the tyres on the road I want to be the hankie you use when you blow your nose. I want to be yours: now, tomorrow, in ten years time. I want to look at you and see you shine.

Thursday, 11 April 2019

I'd like to visit glaciers, mountains, ravines, swaps, coastlines, valleys, ancient monuments and deserted islands with you. I want to see the ice caps before they melt, I want to feel that icy cold air on my face, see the wind whip your long blonde hair out of the way, feel your hand in my hand as we look at this world before it melts away. I want to sail across choppy seas, standing on deck looking out at the horizon with you in my arms, the wind making tears fall from our eyes. I want to scale up and scale down, feel miniature next to you, next to mountains, feel ginormous in rooms because of you and observe the structure of your cells, fibre, DNA. I want to stop climate change and I want things to say the same but I also want to fly for miles in planes and ride around in cars, give birth to beautiful babies, drink imported wine on terraces with overflowing ashtrays. I want you everywhere; in my body and my heart, in vistas, clouds and art.


love

Wednesday, 27 March 2019

James

i was just thinking about those swedish sentences
'how lucky we are to live at the same time me and you'
'how lucky we are to be alive right now me and you'
and how they are romantic yes, but how they can be romantic between two friends too.

it was fun to go on a mini adventure, me and you
it was lovely to sit and laugh, just me and you.

i'm lucky to live at the same time as you

i'm lucky to be alive right now with you.

Wednesday, 27 February 2019

it's funny how this morning I was preaching the benefits of time;
thinking about how when it passed she faded, she faded, she faded and you faded.
Imagined future scenarios when others would fade.
Speculated about how I only liked the album tracks because I played the album over and over,
how Lucie hated some of them because they come before or after one that she liked.
But surely she just liked that one because she had listened to it the most?

ridiculous to be having those thoughts today, this morning, today of all days.


it's bonkers how easily
and ridiculously your face makes me smile.
a shot through the body
a shock to the brain, spine et al.

These ridiculous early 'summer' days we have been experiencing between 10am and 4 or 5pm each day this week and some of last are as maddening as your face.
It is cold enough to wear gloves as I cycle into work
and I need a scarf for after dark
but the sun still feels so warm on my face.

I used to try and use this as a way to understand
or extract meaning but now
I just tangle myself up in flames.

the red burning ember
the brown wooden desk,
the soft brown coat
the bright red hair.

Thursday, 17 January 2019

If I hadn’t passed you that note I never would have known. I’d be sitting here wondering what could have been. I would have been rupi kaur who was capri sun when you wanted freshly squeezed orange juice. I would have had a worm in my throat until the end of all my days if I didn’t know. I only now have a maggot. I was rupi kaur who was the maggot in your throat when you could only feel a worm. I wrote the note so I could smell what you smelt like and feel how your clothes felt in my hands. But I don’t need the note to know the colour of your hair, the colour of your eyes or to see how you move your body. I was rupi kaur watching you move your body when you wanted someone to feel it as well. Why couldn’t it have been me? I’ll drink milk and honey and praise the sun and her flowers but you’ll always be the burning red end of a cigarette to me. The last one I’ll smoke until I light another, and another, and another.