Posted in Blog, Creative Writing, Writing

Winter Roses

Life just gets so lonely,

don’t you think?

When all you are is a self aware worker bee.

Taking each one of your gifts,

letting them fall off a cliff,

into a blender,

tornado made of torment,

because the world goes round and round,

and you just never notice.

I suppose the night will fall,

as it’s supposed to,

and the sky will never be particularly spectacular,

and I’ll watch Paddington,

under a blanket,

wondering why it’s such a chore,

to manage anything at all.

The roses I would buy,

every weekend of the winter,

remind me that beautiful things can still be born in the harshest conditions.

They are blooming,

just out of reach,

when I’m falling asleep,

somewhere between four and six,

AM or PM,

either way,

it takes far longer than it used to.

Posted in Blog

Dandelion

How do you survive,

dear dandelion?

Abandoned,

trapped in the grim and gray pavement,

making your own way,

towards the sun,

resilient,

unapologetic and present,

cursed to be alone,

unwanted,

but always alive.

Alone in the city,

seeing all the world has to offer,

but never tempted to stray,

from the light of the sky.

I could learn so much from you.

Posted in Blog

Gardening

I grow white orchids,

under the sunlight,

that goes back and forth,

arriving,

leaving,

surrounded by poppies,

in the garden,

waiting for the day,

that they will surround me,

as I approach you,

glowing,

going towards heaven on earth,

You are watching me,

morning coffee,

keeps your hands warm,

until I return to them,

safe and smiling,

surrounded by beautiful birdsong,

watching our flowers thrive.

Posted in Blog, Creative Writing, Personal, Writing

Planting Roses

No bars to break,

but here I am,

surrounded by searching space,

a prisoner,

encased in ivy,

that I have imagined,

grew side by side,

with the roses we planted.

 

 

I never knew my charge,

but I was sentenced to be sped,

back to the real world,

on several delayed trains,

with barely there air conditioning,

and piece by piece,

I felt each flower fall,

all around me.

 

 

The empty, invisible walls tell tales,

and I can’t tell which voice is yours,

anymore,

because the rain still falls,

and the wind still wails,

but I’m not sure they’re really there.

I’m not sure where it hurts,

I just know that it does,

and I know why it does,

even if that isn’t “proper science”.

 

I don’t know if you’ll wait for me,

or how long you’d have to wait,

but I know I need you to.

I remember this kind of crying,

thirteen,

Hastings beach,

knowing my world wouldn’t fit into a quaint country village,

not just the bright lights,

I had dreamed of,

for as long as I knew how to dream,

but a love.

I wanted a love,

that I couldn’t yet describe,

and maybe never could.

 

 

Again,

twenty three,

pausing at Preston,

with my heart in my throat,

poking it’s way out,

with razor blades and regret,

knowing it had found the love,

but not the words,

to explain how essential it was.

 

 

It never ends,

it only eases,

until it doesn’t,

and then,

I am back behind bars,

that cannot be broken,

by anything but,

freedom to be locked away,

planting roses,

with you,

and watching your excited eyes,

as we we wait for them to grow.

 

img_1926.jpg

I could walk away,

at any second,

out the door,

into the sunset,

under a train,

but with each step,

the chains of my choice,

and the punishment it brings others,

would grow heavier,

until my legs broke,

and my torso wept.

 

 

Give me rain,

or sun,

or death.

Give me some way,

to make each moment just a moment,

rather than a reminder,

that I have a life,

and a job,

and a whole realm of responsibilities,

that don’t include planting roses,

with you,

and watching your excited eyes,

as we we wait for them to grow.

 

 

Give me hope,

that one day,

I will find a time,

when I can survive on the inside,

and see it more as the outside,

real life,

my life,

without you.

 

 

Tell me that I’ll survive,

even if you’re lying,

or,

better yet,

lie down,

keep my side of the bed warm,

rain roses from the roof,

petals,

settled in the sheets,

growing strong under bright lights,

waiting for me to make parole.

 

 

I’ve found the words now.


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