Flashes of a ballroom
vibrant 1950s green,
black and white tiles
blood red river running
between the tiles
Never to return, or so
it seemed once
Stepping over the threshold
into childhood screams
A solitary figure with
no one to greet her
The renovations were simple,
that green colour she loved
Turning away from this
place of painful memories
Leaving behind the good and
the bad for modern colours
Too much coffee
Peeking from the door
An inconspicuous look
A unique perfume
Your love sits oblivious
Dancing with the toilet brush
So Modern
We were so modern
Lace gloves, balloon skirts, wild hair
Now, it’s Gold FM
Bruised Jazz
A cage of your own making
jumbled maddening sounds
dancing up a storm of anger
Inaccessible to the ones you love
banging and blaming
yourself against every single wall
Tear-stained mascara tracks
dripping on
your cheeks, neck, breasts
Tearing at the wallpaper
no hidden text of hope
nor any buried treasure
A victim's marks blotch
your arms, back, and face
You know it was not your fault,
yet you blame
and blame and blame yourself.
A mess of limbs, hair and wild eyes
you look to the ceiling, the record
stops, and the rain begins to fall
You let all the shit go.
Unwritten Rules
We felt empowered
sipping coffee in a suits
an office for all
so many unwritten rules
our hopes and dreams start to fade
Sunday Afternoon
To ponder the wind moving the grass. A sense of grace moves through the quiet places of our home.
Not one for religion, yet there is a sense of peace in a church where everyone is welcome.
My thoughts feed the Sunday night existential dread.
I sit and ponder.
Inspiration: Pizzicato Tiled Daffodils
fast steps, slow steps
fast steps, slow steps
a turn and saffron whirl
sipping from a warm cup
terracotta streets of warmth
the scent of perfume, flowers
tomato, mozzarella, and shallots
atop warm kneaded baked bread
olive oil flowing down the streets
cloves of garlic, olives, and cheese
caught up in the warm high tide
flowing along on food and your love
Scared of Lemons
A wild pronking dance
scared of the rolling lemon
dirt and lemon juice
Endings
For I was young and didn’t care
yet now I look on in despair
For I didn’t think that I did care
and now I know it’s not fair
Artwork
A broken canvas
hurling gemstones
piercing the painting
Contemporary dancing
wildly moving inspiration
the wall and canvas collide
A dull one dimensional easel
the inspiration river flows outside
A broken canvas and broken gems
The artwork reveals itself.