Poetry A Modest Collection

[Grey]

Hollowed

All that’s left in me
are weak dregs of the sea
that live in my veins.

You should open up,
sings the Atlantic,
and return to me.
Let the depths embrace you.
Let the dark comfort you.
Let the empty shell of your body
hollowed out by the humdrum
settle in the doldrums
one last time
and do some good for the little living things.

You are not made to be the broken-hearted servant
of strange voices on strange winds
or dragons of a hundred scattered parts
giving up day after day to give up day after day
with the memory of warmth growing distant
like the cold, mocking stars.

You should open up,
sings the Atlantic,
bring your blood back to me.
In the dark, in the deep,
where you are meant to be.

 

[Grey]

Waving, Still Drowning

It wasn’t the usual war that hollowed me out
Stuffed my head with static
Turned my limbs to lead.

It was the only war that stole my breath
Filled me up with tears
That never seem to fall.

It was a war I fought against myself
And everyone beside me;
We rarely looked up.

How the cold stars shine with mockery
From the covers of magazines
While we clock in, clock out.
Attrition of a field we cannot hold.

If I could but hold your hand
We could pull each other up.
But we’re so far out now.

Waving.
Still drowning.

 

[Grey]

Junk Mail

I wake to a sky washed-out grey-blue dash-dash-dash there’s no substance to push against nowhere for the thoughts to slow down. Yes we’re having a lovely Summer this side of the screen yesterday I slept for twenty hours and didn’t have the energy to regret it and I need you to know this, that we’re so far away and further still. All the lonely people I see and in them I see myself and I’d like to reach out. I’d like to offer you a hand. I’d like to hold you. Keep this letter under your pillow, or in a locked bottom-drawer; it’s the same to me, I just want you to remember every once in a while. The way I see your face, your faces, the way I hear your voice and read your words and fall in love a little. Just a little, just to light a match to warm the way. Dot-dot-dot please can you hear me I think we’re sinking dash-dash-dash please can you feel me can I reach through this screen dot-dot-dot. Continents passing in the night; I see you from my window and know you’ll never notice me but at least I feel enough to write it down

 

[Grey]

From The Sea, To A Pyre

I wonder sometimes if you’re lonely, as I am lonely, out there on the moor, but then how could you be? It’s so cold out here; I don’t even notice anymore. Only five percent of me is mapped and at a distance there are some who wonder what remains to see, impressed in a detached and uncomprehending way. If you lived by me long enough, you’d be bored, but perhaps not enough to say goodbye. I do prattle on but you, you! How brightly you burn, how hot, how untouchable. To come too close is to be destroyed, to remain too near leaves marks for at least a little while. How could you, so vital, so magnetic, be lonely? The dark of the moors retreats and cold hands are warmed in your presence. But I would smother you. How terrible, how unforgivable. Have they fed you fine wood? Have they burned sweet herbs or cooked nourishing meals? I’m sorry; I never could quite understand. I contain multitudes but I don’t even feel them against my tides, and nothing feeds me; they might come here to die. I hope the Autumn is kind to you. Perhaps from where you burn you can see my storms.

 

[Grey]

Unless...


Perhaps it’s the imprisonment,
Which drives my thoughts to flight
In the deep watches of the night
Or dreaming bewilderment.
In truth I have only intent,
To bathe in your light
And I think you might
Like to have a visitant.

Let me spiral in your orbit
Even if I burn away,
I would once touch a sun.
Let my waxen wings split,
Remind me how to love the day,
Until my fall must come.

 

[Grey]

Do You Love Me?

If you ask ‘do you love me?’
You would not be thinking what I am thinking.
And I would have to say yes;
I love you the way I love everyone,
Every precious soul
That I would see safe, and happy, and loved.
Let me hold you gently in this love
Like a bird in my hands.

If you ask ‘do you love me?’
You would not be thinking what I am thinking.
And I would have to say yes;
I love you the way I love those friends,
Whom I know, and I know you,
I must feel how I feel.
Let me swaddle you in this love,
Let you rest in my shade.

If you ask ‘do you love me?’
I would be thinking what you are thinking.
And I would have to say
Perhaps. Perhaps I do
Love you in the way that a seed
Is also an oak.
Let’s walk this way again later
And see if anything’s grown.

 

[Grey]

Restless Spirits
What is distance to the dead?
Misery, loving, company; I felt you
across empty rooms and overgrown lots-
might we haunt each other awhile?
Rattle windows, slam doors, creak boards.
Annihilate in mutual exorcism.
Leave only the scent of smoke and shadow-stains.

Letter To The Mainland
I am a corpse too hungry to know it is dead.
I am a ghost haunting the peeling corridors of my life.
That I could be flint, sharp and unyielding;
and yet I would break.
That I could be chalk, hiding under the green hills
until the tide carries me away in granules.
That I could be a beast and get rid of the pain of being a man.

 

[Grey]

Through Summer's late-lingered sun
And moody Winter skies
Remember that the moon is there
Still pulling at the tides.