Four Tears

My eyes swell
And my pride chokes.
Chokes so hard
My insides wrench.

Then,
Like a cloud
I leak -
Drip, drop, drip.

Each tear
Splashes,
Shatters,
On the kitchen floor.

Four in total.
Each a reminder
Of what was -
One for every time.

Like hot plates,
That slipped
From my hand.
Heavy landing.

The total effort
Of my whole heart,
(Existence to you)
Four beleaguered tears.

All so small
Yet concentrated -
A lifetime of care
Encompassed within.

Everything I feel
In a minuscule puddle
Of which
You know little.

Three A.M.,
Slumped,
On the kitchen floor.
Four beleaguered tears.

An eye elixir
For all i feel.
Irrationally? Yes.
But still.

You sleep sound.
Dry eyes.
No tears,
No kitchen floor.

I gave it all,
As I always do,
But nothing came
Just four beleaguered tears.

Ode to Cloud Nine

Thunder a-comin'.

Skies gawn dark.

Where'd tha fluffy

Cumulus gow?

Winds a-gustin' -

'Ard.

You'se loomin',

Hangin' on yonda.

Won' be long now.

Incredible vorh-ex.

Gigan'ic,

Terrible -

Cloud galaxy of

Atmospheric nebula.

As you lay quiet,

Broodin' an'

Gatherin' energies.

Won' be long now.

Thump!

You hit roof.

A straturspheric

Punch.

Anvil like, you

Start to tritle -

Rain -

Belts it down.

Won' be long now.

Bit nippy like,

Shivrin'.

You'se dominate;

Skye Marster,

Lord of clouds,

Number níne.

Tree's is screamin'

Before you wake.

Won' be long now.

Won' be long

NOW!

Cack, crackle.

Heav'ns chime,

Valk-ries

Time for livin'.

You'se,

No,

WE'se alive!

Migh'y-number-níne

You ebb

An' flow.

'Lectric fingers

Kneadin' grey dough.

You'se is almos' spent.

Dissipate an' i'll watch.

Another's growin'.

Cumulonimbus!

Won' be long now.

Wilderness Remains

As the sun rises
And the moon departs,
There is a constant
In this world.

Your wilderness remains.

Long Limbed Girl of Bondi

You seem so sad,
Sat there motionless
With your long limbs.
Looking out to sea.
There is an occasional flicker,
A twitch.
Gum in your mouth.
But all else is still.

What are you thinking?
Something tragic?
That melancholic stare,
Doesn't seem right.
I want to stand up,
Walk over, sit and say,
"Was it someone?
I've been there, it gets better."

Long, brown hair streaming
Across your face.
I hope the wind blows,
Blows all your sorrows away.
Those languishing long limbs
Are bruised.
More to bang,
I guess.

I'm anxious you will leave
Before it is done.
Sun setting.
You look at me,
I can't see your eyes - sunglasses.
Hiding tears?
Despondent inertia returns.
You might stay.

The departure is sudden.
"It's unfinished!", my mind screams.
No glimmer of happiness as you part.
I can save you! WAIT!
I give chase - a poetry stalker -
Writing as I run.
Those damn long limbs!
Now you are woebe-gone.

Frosted Glass

Frosted glass in a bathroom,
It's a funny thing.
Standing in the full buff,
Wistfully brushing away at the teeth.
And for all you know a young family,
Both innocent and happy,
Could be stood watching in horror.
Outside on the driveway,
Looking in.
Taking an intrepid gander.
Wincing.
My blurred, slinky-pink framed outline.

Heard them this morning and thought,
"How odd would it be if the frosting just disappeared!".
That thin distortion
Between my pubic hair and public sensibility.