The Last Image

08/04/2021 – Poem a Day Compilation



If I’d known this would be

The last image I’d take of you,

Would I have made the effort

To take another picture?



It’s quite a nice picture:

You’re sitting on a bench

Hair flowing in the breeze

Half a smile on your face



You never really liked it:

The lighting wasn’t flattering

And you didn’t fancy that top

With that particular shirt



Now it’s all I have:

A moment in time

Frozen forever but

Captured in the blink of an eye



So, I don’t think I would

Take another picture of you

Because that’s the real you

And the one I keep in my heart

Memory

03/03/2021 - Poem a Day Compilation



I’m starting to forget your voice

Sometimes I hear it in my head

And it doesn’t sound real

Just my memory of how you sound



There’s something in a voice

That holds the character of a person,

A whisper of their soul

That can’t be found anywhere else



The inflections that reflect their smile

The pauses and the rushes of words

That sing as they speak

And warm the heart of everyone who hears



When I remember your voice

It’s not quite you

But it’s all I have left

Because you’re not here anymore

Her Fabrics

27/02/2021 – Poem a Day Compilation



My aunt was a sewer

Always fabric strewn about the place

All manner of threads and weaves

From thick denim to delicate lace



She made teddy bears for charity

For children to cuddle tight

When away from family in hospital

And facing their toughest fight



She made jackets for women

Who lived in shelters near and far

When they’d left home without anything

To escape violence under the radar



She made costumes for schools

To clothe their performing arts

From drama ensembles to dancing troupes

Her skill was off the charts



She made blankets for all the babies

Born into our growing family

Not a one was ever forgotten

From Jonathon to Amelie



I wish I were a better sewer

But I never took the time

More interested in sports and games

Or which tree I should climb



But sitting there in her sewing room

Surrounded by fabrics of every hue

I had the urge to pay a homage

And I knew what I must do



Carefully I measured out a square

From every piece than I could find

Some big and some much smaller

But all chosen with a heart that’s kind



I lay them out upon the floor

Arranging them as best I could

Before pinning them together

A task I never imagined I would



I looked up on the internet

How to thread the sewing machine

And after a false start or ten

I felt like the sewing queen



The squares come together

A mammoth task I’d undertaken

But I would not be dissuaded

My plan wouldn’t be forsaken



Finally, I had a quilted blanket

Bigger than my arms would stretch

With seams a little crooked

And no mean price would it fetch



But I would never sell it

It was my reminder of her brilliance

A thousand little pieces

That tested my resilience



Every colour is a piece of her

Every thread a memory I hold dear

Never will she be far from me

With her fabrics always near

In the future

19/02/2021 –  Poem a Day Compilation



For Joshua Garrett and his mother, Katt



In the future I will be brave

But right now, I want to scream 

I long to hold you in my arms

And hear your plaintiff cries



In the future I will remember you

When others just want to forget

Because thinking of you is hard

But forgetting would be worse



In the future I want to hear your name

Said with all the love in the world

Because you were here and I love you

Though you were barely two months old



In the future I want to reminisce

About the time we had with you

But people won’t even mention you

For fear of how they’ll feel



In the future I will still grieve

But I want there to be happy tears

When I think of that precious time we had

And not how you’re no longer here



In the future I want to celebrate you

And what you meant to me

Not hide your memory away inside

Like a secret of which to be ashamed



In the future I will say your name

For everyone to hear

For you are a part of me

To which I will never say goodbye

A Face in the Crowd

20/11/2020 – Poem a Day Compilation



I only saw you for a moment

A fleeting observation

Capturing my heart briefly

Then releasing it once more



Your hair was dark brown

Like rich chocolate cake

And if I’d known you

I’d have wanted to run my fingers through it



Your eyes sparkled like diamonds

Piercing, pale and blue

Cutting through me

Like a hot knife through butter



Your skin glowed in the afternoon light

Radiating a warmth of soul

That I would not see again

For a great many years to come



I only saw you for a moment

A fleeting observation

But you stayed with me

I have not let you go ever since.

The Station Master at Caringbah

18/11/2020 – Poem a Day Compilation



When I was a child

My mother didn’t own a car.

She hadn’t driven very far

Since before the day I was born.



We took trains a lot,

And buses, but mostly trains

To school and home again,

And to sport training sessions.



It wouldn’t matter the weather,

Nor the season, nor the occasion,

We would traipse up and down steps

To and from platforms and concourses.



Most staff would give us a smile

Or say hello as we passed them by

Our faces familiar to them

But nothing beyond that.



But one station master was different

He would go out of his way to help,

Stop for a chat with us both

And felt very grandfatherly to me.



Maybe it was because I was young

And all older people seemed that way

Because I’d not had a lot of experience, 

With both grandfathers long since gone.



All I know is that he was nice

And a genuine kind of man

I wish I could remember his name

But it was so long ago.



When it late and dark,

He would keep an eye on us

Making sure nothing happened

And that we made our train safely.



And if the wind had a bit of bite to it

Or it was raining cats and dogs

He’d let us sit in the ticket office

By the heater so we’d stay warm.



He taught me how the indicator board worked

And how to change the destination signs

Without any notion of reward

For the kindness he bestowed on us.



Now I am grown with my own child

Who loves the railways, too.

He hopes to work for the network

And become a train driver one day.



I wish I could have introduced them

Because I’m sure with all my heart

They would have gotten on famously

But I know it’s far too late.

Murky Air

13/11/2020 – Poem a Day Compilation



The air is murky today

It hangs heavy in the atmosphere

Cloying

But not sweet like spring should be



The dread of summer has come early

Much earlier than last year

I can smell the smoke

It’s too far to see just yet



But there’s a darkness around me

Despite the clear skies overhead

I can feel the rain in my soul

Long before it falls on the ground



It won’t come soon enough

The trees will turn black before then

Their leaves gone

The bush unrecognisable



My sweat and tears won’t help

And the tanks are bone dry

The winter rains few and far between

For too many years now



The gutters have been cleared

The ladder still propped up

Idling beside the house

Just in case we need it



You wouldn’t think there’d be anything left

When we’ve suffered through this

Less than twelve months ago

And it nearly broke us, then



We pray for clouds that won’t come

To a god that doesn’t exist

Because it’s all we can do

When hell arrives at your door



I can hear the sirens blaring

Roaring down the road

Trying to get ahead of the front

Before it jumps the river



We call it a river

It’s not even been a trickle lately

The animals have moved on

They’re smarter than us



Last year it was licking at our fence

Embers drifting on the hot breeze

The air thick with smoke and fear

And sheer desperation



I don’t remember what we did

If we manned a hose

Or beat out spot fires

With tattered hessian sacks



I do remember some things

Things no one should remember

Things that are seared into my brain

And that I can’t drown out



I remember what charred kangaroo looks like

Teeth showing through melted flesh

Fur all but gone

Not being brave enough to check pouches



I remember the sound of exploding gas tanks

From cars we couldn’t get to

That couldn’t save us

From the descending inferno



I remember the crackling

As branches were consumed

By an ever-hungry beast

That refused to be tamed



And I remember the whites of the eyes

Behind soot stained masks

Of men and women

Who stared down death and won



But memories won’t spare us now

As a thousand freight trains bear down

With a ferocity you can feel before you hear

And hear before you can see



I’d give anything right now

For this murky air to be a summer storm

Dumping gallons of glorious water

On parched fields and paddocks



What I wouldn’t give

For that grey creeping over the horizon

To not be filled with nightmares

But bringing with it salvation



Maybe this year won’t be as bad

Maybe me heart won’t break again

Because I know I can’t keep this up

When old scars haven’t healed

Flipside

31/08/2020 –  Poem a Day Compilation



When I was young

I’d sit by my grandfather’s feet

Listening to records

Playing on the turntable.



He had a really old one,

You had to flip the record yourself

And place the needle carefully

So it wouldn’t scratch.



We’d listen to the classics

Music he’d grown up loving

And I knew all the words

Even though they were well before my time.



He’d say, “Flip it over, kid”

And I’d jump up from the floor.

Then, he’d smile.

He didn’t do that often.



I’d take the needle off

And carefully lift the record

Turning it on one motion

In the blink of an eye.



After I’d set the B side playing

He’d watch me dance to the old songs

Reminiscing about his dance hall days

But I couldn’t imagine him dancing, then.



I still listen to music every day

But it’s not the same unless it’s on vinyl.

To hear the crackle and the noise,

That’s what my heart remembers.



“Music isn’t meant to be perfect,”

My grandfather told me one day,

“It’s meant to sound lived in,

Just like hearing it in the flesh.”



I didn’t know what he meant that day,

And I wouldn’t for a very long time.

He saw me grow and find my own music

And we shared it on that old turntable.



Every year, under the Christmas tree,

A flat, square present waited to be unwrapped

By a child, a teenager, a young woman

And, finally, a mother of rambunctious boys.



But as I sat at his funeral all those years later

Hearing the music they’d chosen for him

It finally made all the sense in the world to me.

It was all too perfect.



Ave Maria carried effortlessly

Across the room as if sung by angels,

And tears rolled down the cheeks

Of relatives and family friends.



But it wasn’t until I heard the hum

Of that old record player

And Vera Lynn’s voice rang out

As if standing before us all.



    “We’ll meet again,

    Don’t know where, don’t know when,

    But I’m sure we’ll meet again

    Some sunny day.”



My chin trembled,

My eyes welled up,

I caught my breath

And felt him there.



That lived in sound filled my ears,

And swept over my heart

And his last words came back to me,

“See you on the flipside, kid.”

Locked in a Jar

04/08/2020 -  Poem a Day Compilation



Locked in a jar

Deep in my heart

There’s a memory

Of a long-ago time

With people now gone

In a place I’ll never return.



Locked in a jar

Is a feeling of love

That envelopes the memory

And holds it tight

So it may never wither

Or evaporate in the night.



Locked in a jar

Where it is eternally safe

Is a picture of you

That never grows old

And stays with me always

Until my last breath.

Quite the Collection

25/07/2020 -  Poem a Day Compilation



I have quite a collection of trinkets

From all around the world,

Encrusted in rubies and diamonds

And some even impearled.



They remind of places I’ve been,

The people I’ve met along the way,

The fun that’s been had by the by

And the experiences by night and by day.



I hold onto those memories

Because it pains me, I might forget

And I have not wish to not remember

And spend my days filled with regret.

The Violin

14/07/2020 – Poem a Day Compilation



The stairs creaked underfoot,

Their tread almost pristine from lack of use.



I didn’t know what was up there,

No one ever took the time to explain

And now I was the only one left with the keys.



At the top of the flight, on the landing,

Little plumes of dust rose from the carpet

With every step I took towards the door.



The keys were cold in my hand

But my palm was sweating in anticipation,

Maybe in fear, as well.



I don’t know exactly what I felt.



It’s a bit of a blur if I’m perfectly honest.



I put the big key in a lock

That looked original to the house,

Chunky mid-1800s, I thought.



The key jiggled, rattled, not wanting to turn

Until it suddenly found its home

And sprung around in my hand with a click.



The lock opening was just the start,

The door wedged shut over the years

By the expansion and contraction of its boards

From season to season,

An era of dirt and other detritus built up

To make an almost perfect seal.



No amount of pulling and pushing would help

To free the stubborn door from its frame

So, I lined up my shoulder with the door

Braced against the inevitable impact

And threw my body weight forward.



It felt like the whole house shook

But the door remained closed.



I braced again, this time hitting it harder.

I could hear the screech of the door,

The wood being forced apart

After so many years of happy coexistence.



It took several more hits before it swung open

And I found myself staggering forward

Into the darkness of the attic room,

The air thick enough to taste,

The smell wanting to make me heave.



I fumbled for the light switch on the wall

As my eyes somewhat adjusted to the dark

But there was no switch to be found.



I could make out vague shapes,

Boxes, maybe, piled haphazardly,

And a boarded-up window

Filled remains of a thousand cockroaches.



There in the dark,

My eyes now adjusted as best they could,

I saw a string hanging from the ceiling

And I hoped it was for the single globe

I could just make out on the ceiling

And not part of a monstrous web

With an enormous spider at the top

Waiting to devour me for lunch.



I flicked the cord gingerly and,

Not finding myself become a meal

For a hungry arachnid or something worse,

I tugged on its grime encrusted end.



The light flickered to life,

Casting a dull yellowish glow

So different from the bright white

Of the LED globes downstairs.



I looked at the boxes, layered with dust

And who knows what else,

Thinking that I should have put the gloves on

At least twenty minutes before this point

But better late than never, as they say.



Slipping on the gloves, My hands swimming

Despite them being the smallest size available,

I tried to read the writing on the boxes.



I scraped the muck away from the carboard

Revealing delicate printing –

Oma’s Music –

And took a deep breath.



It wasn’t my Oma, but hers.



Die Groβmutter meiner Groβmutter.



I opened the box and, there,

Neatly stacked inside,

Were bundles and bundles of papers

Filled with the music of a lifetime,

For piano, for violin, for clarinet.



The piano she’d played these on

Stood proudly downstairs,

The focal feature of the drawing room,

Grand and kept perfectly in tune.



The clarinet had been broken in a move

Long before my time,

Even before my mother’s time,

Reduced to a memory shared

From generation to generation.



But the violin, locked away for so long,

Sat in another box, still inside its case,

Longing for someone to love it

And to play it, just one more time.



It would have to be restrung,

Its wooden body polished

To restore the stunning handiwork

Of a young Matthias Klotz,

His instrument now so far from home,

But once again loved as it had been

At the hands of a beautiful lady

From the forests surrounding Mittenwald.



I dared not touch it then,

My gloved hands caked in dirt

And shaking from the find I had hoped for

But dared not expect,

Lest I come away sadly disappointed

By what I had found.



A third box, more reminiscent of a chest,

Groaned as I lifted the lid,

The ghosts of more than a hundred years

Spilling free from their crypt,

Leaving only the photographs,

Yellowed and curling at the edges,

Of family, of friends,

Of places and events on dreamed of

For the likes of me.



A child posed at the piano,

Her dolls laying casually atop,

Her fingers perched on the keys.



A teen at her first ball,

Glowing radiantly in the throng,

Her gowns train spilling away from her.



A family portrait of stuffy men in suits

And women in far too many layers

For that time of year.



A couple just married,

Their love and devotion

Shining through the years.



A mother and her brood,

She looking too young to have so many,

Unaged by the trials and tribulations.



There was life in those boxes,

Love and heartache, fear and triumph,

A never-ending story of joy and sacrifice

Never forgotten, but sometimes pushed aside

As the day to day struggles took over

The caretakers of those memories.



Now I was that caretaker,

Duty bound to bring new life to old stories,

And to treasure that which remained

Of a woman I never met,

But to whom I belonged

And to whom my children belonged

And whose blood flowed through our veins

As a living reminder to all she was

And all that we could be.

The Weather Inside

05/07/2020 –  Poem a Day Compilation



Ever feel like there’s a tiny cloud

That hovers over your head

And follows you wherever you go?

Yeah. Me, too.



Sometimes it’s a wispy white cloud

Casting cheerful shadows

On bright sunny days

That fill my heart with joy.



On other days it’s darker,

Grey and foreboding,

Casting doubt and uncertainty

No matter the weather outside.



Then there are those days

When storm clouds rage

Rain, thunder, lightning, oh my!

And you are cast into despair.



On days such as those

I’d really just like to have

A tiny umbrella and maybe a raincoat

To protect my waterlogged self.



But the worst days come, I feel,

When there’s no clouds at all

But your pockets are full of hail

From a multitude of yesterdays.



When you can see the sunshine

But can’t feel its warmth

And you’re shivering alone in your house,

Screams lost on the passing breeze.

Beyond Work

03/06/2020 – Iso Well-Being Compilation

 

Work used to be a refuge,

A safe place to hide away

But now I’m filled with anxiety

Because I know you’ll be there.

 

It started innocently enough

With a laugh over coffee or lunch

I never thought of it being more

And never that I’d fear seeing you.

 

I thought I felt you staring

But I told myself I was mistaken.

You were so nice and so helpful

And I was just starting out.

 

Occasionally we’d bump into each other

And we passed in the busy hall.

It didn’t seem unusual,

Except it seemed to happen a lot.

 

I knew it was a bit of a boys club

And the jokes were a bit off colour

But you made the jokes just to me

Not in a crowd like the other blokes.

 

As we talked about upcoming projects

You’d casually put your hand on my arm.

It made me feel uncomfortable

And I’d step back out of your reach.

 

You asked me out for drinks

On an almost weekly basis.

It didn’t matter if I said no,

You ask again, as if for the first time.

 

We went to a meeting with the bosses

And I thought I’d be safe from you there

But you insisted on hugging me afterwards

As congratulations for getting the job done.

 

You’d ask me about my boyfriends,

What they were like and why we broke up,

How much sex we had when together

And whether they had any particular kinks.

 

I found it incredibly creepy

When you’d talk about my body and shape,

Especially with the other men in the office

Who laughed, uncomfortably, along.

 

The more times I rejected you

The more sexual your taunts became

Your tawdry jokes took a sinister bent

And your tone was more or less insulting.

 

The intrusion didn’t stay confined

To the office or workshop out the back,

You started sending me emails

And pictures that’d make a nun blush.

 

One night the team went out for drinks

And I stayed away from you as much as I could

But you cornered me at the bar

And planted a kiss on my neck.

 

I threw my drink over you,

Accidently on purpose, you know.

I could see the anger in your eyes

And I made my excuses to leave.

 

I requested a transfer in the office

To a department far away from you

And they seemed to know why I was asking

Without me having to say a word.

 

But sometimes I couldn’t avoid you,

And you seemed to think it was my fault

That you’d be brought in for a chat

About behaving appropriately at work.

 

You demanded to know why I wouldn’t

Engage with you in private,

Suggesting you’d be the best lover

That I’d ever know in my life.

 

You described in explicit detail

What you wanted to do to me, then.

Holding me to the wall with your body

So I’d have to hear every filthy word.

 

I could hold my tongue no longer,

I had not wanted to make any trouble

But you left me no choice in the end

And I spoke out to any and all.

 

I didn’t see you clearing out your desk.

I didn’t want to be there when you left.

I felt guilty for what you made me do

Even though it was never my fault.

 

But if I thought I could breathe easy

I was very much sadly mistaken.

I saw you that same day on my bus

Despite you living in the opposite direction.

 

I knew you knew where I lived

So there was no point trying to hide

But I had to get inside quickly

And lock all the windows and deadbolt the door.

 

Sometimes I could feel your presence

Even when I couldn’t see your face,

When I did my shopping on weekends

Or went out for dinner with my friends.

 

I blocked each new email you created

And reported your social media profiles

Every time you sent me a dick pic

Or a link to some kind of porn.

 

I told my friends about you.

I told all your former colleagues at work.

Some thought I was exaggerating.

Others knew from where I was coming.

 

When I found you in my driveway

I wanted to run away,

But you didn’t give me a chance,

Circling around behind me.

 

I told you to leave

As I rummaged for my keys,

If I couldn’t get them in the door

I’d stick them in your eyes instead.

 

You grabbed my bag and threw it,

Your hand swiftly covering my mouth.

You didn’t expect me to bite you

And I made my escape next door.

 

The lovely couple who lived there

Called the police so I could breathe

But you were long gone before they arrived

Though they said they’d have a chat.

 

You weren’t best pleased with that

And decided to take your revenge.

You were far beyond sexual attraction now,

You were in a one-sided power struggle.

 

I didn’t see it coming

Though I probably should have known.

It’s a well-worn path, apparently,

But I was young and very naïve.

 

You broke into my house one day

While I was hard at work.

You hadn’t bothered getting another job,

Your fixation firmly on me.

 

I don’t know when you’d copied my key

But this had been a long while in the planning.

You hid all day in the garage,

Waiting for my return after work.

 

You heard me cooking dinner.

You listened as I showered before bed.

You watched as dropped my towel

About to slip into my nightie.

 

I didn’t get that chance, though,

As you rushed into my bedroom that night.

You pushed me face down into the bed,

Your hand pressed firmly on my neck.

 

My body frozen in fear,

Fight or flight not registering then,

I felt every inch of your body

Sweaty but disgustingly cold.

 

I remember every second,

Every noise, every smell.

I feel every touch, every violation

Every time someone else gets close.

 

I cried for a week afterwards,

I cried when I saw your old desk.

I cried when the police took my statement

And when I had to tell my parents.

 

I cried through the medical exam

And I cried in the taxi home.

I cried when I looked in the mirror

And saw the bruises that you left.

 

I cried when they arrested you,

I cried when I heard you’d been charged.

I cried in the prosecutor’s office

And I cried on the stand.

 

Your lawyer said I asked for it,

Laid the blame squarely at my feet,

Insinuated that the clothes I wore

Excused the actions that you took.

 

The jury saw through your act,

I know I’m lucky in that regard.

It could so easily have gone the other way

And I’d blame myself more than I do now.

 

I still have those thoughts, you know,

That if only I’d done something different,

That if I’d been nicer to you,

That we might have had a different conclusion.

 

But, really, this wasn’t on me

And I hate that I blame myself sometimes

For actions I did nothing to encourage

And actively tried to end.

 

You were the one who did this.

You were the one who took it too far.

You were the one who abused me.

You were the one who broke the law.

 

You thought that you were entitled,

To my body, my space and my time.

And you didn’t just attack me physically,

The scars run far deeper than that.

 

How will anyone want me

When they know what has happened to me?

How will they find me desirable

When I can’t even look in the mirror?

 

You’ve broken something inside me

And I don’t know that it will ever be fixed.

You stole what was only mine to give

And now I am empty inside.

My Favourite Meal

25/05/2020 - Iso Well-Being Compilation

 

This isn’t my favourite food.

It’s not even in my top ten.

But every year I eat it

Because it makes me think of you.

 

We came here so long ago

On our perfect second date

After the first one was disastrous

And you begged for another chance.

 

We ate and talked and laughed and drank

And wiled away the hours.

Before we knew any time had passed

We were being ushered out the door.

 

The years, they were good to us,

With many a happy time.

That’s not to say there weren’t tears

And angry words besides.

 

But this year, I ate alone

At a table meant for two.

The waiter didn’t clear your place

But put a rose across your plate instead.

 

The owner has waived the bill

In honour of our love

And asked if I’ll be back next year,

But all I could do was cry.

Grandma’s Hands

19/05/2020 - Iso Well-Being Compilation

 

I remember my grandma’s hands.

Wrinkly and covered in sun spots,

Worn but so full of love

Every time she touched my face.

 

When I was young, I used to copy her,

Clapping to call my grandpa in

When it was time for his dinner

Because he was a little deaf.

 

I used to hide under the table,

And reach out to grab her ankle

As she walked by me,

Even though she must have known I was there.

 

I remembered the record player

The seemed to just gather dust

Except at Christmas time

When we’d pull out the vinyl.

 

She had a pokey, little kitchen where

I’d help her make toasted sandwiches

In the old, green frying pan

Because she didn’t have a press.

 

I’d sit for hours in the lounge room

Reading all of her books,

Most of which are now my books

Because no one loved them like I did.

 

I remember her doing the gardening

And helping her rake the leaves

That fell into her yard

From the neighbour’s trees.

 

One year I got was playing with a tennis ball

And it disappeared under her house

So I went after it and

Got stung on the neck by three wasps.

 

I’d put on fashion shows

In my sports uniforms and costumes

To many oohs and aahs

And much proud smiling from her.

 

I remember my cousin (well, second cousin)

Playing soccer in her back yard,

Falling after miskicking the ball

And breaking his arm so it looked weird.

 

As a teenager, I’d ride my bike

From my school to her house

Just so I could sneak a biscuit

Before continuing on to school sport.

 

And when I was eighteen, mum said

That maybe we should check on her

So I drove us to her house

To see if she was alright.

 

I remember that her hand was cold.

A Pain Never Forgotten

13/05/2020 - Iso Well-Being Compilation

 

In the dark of night, he wishes he could forget

The creep of hands, the glow of eyes.

Even now, so long since that first time,

The memories burn though his aged soul.

He shivers at the very thought

Of setting foot back there again;

His stomach turns, his knees grow weak,

And nails dig into palms of calloused hands.

The smell of old man cologne lingers still

And that stench breath on his neck is hot

Feeling it though he is alone tonight

And he dare not close his eyes at all.

For even sleep brings no relief,

Dreams haunting him in waking terror.

Monsters ooze out of shadowed walls

And he is, again, a child with no escape –

No haven safe nor hiding spot

Where they would not find him just this night.

He draws in the air so foul – decrepit –

Recalling every wrinkle and every hair,

And wishing for the world to stop

So he might end this torment he can’t unsee.

Before waking eyes in mirrors harsh,

Staring back at him as through his eyes

A monster he cannot outrun.

He feels the tears, tastes them still,

Forever staining cheeks now old

Yet falling from eyes that are too young

To have known the evil that others do.

Falling Asleep

27/04/2020 - Iso Well-Being Compilation



I sometimes have trouble falling asleep.

I stare at the ceiling in the dark.

A myriad of thoughts envelop me,

Causing neurons to fire,

Memories to burn through me,

Thoughts to cascade from my brain.



What if I’d said this, or not said that?

What if I’d take the holiday,

Or quite the job, or taken the deal?

Who would attend my funeral?

What flowers would they choose?

Would they even look at what I wanted?



Remember when you broke that promise,

And when you lied to your mum,

Or when you cheated on that test?

It doesn’t matter when it was –

Today, yesterday, last week …

Maybe twenty years ago.



All those new years resolutions you’ve broken,

The one where you’d lose weight,

Not care what other people thought,

Made more time for things you like doing?

All those things where you let life get in the way

And beat yourself up for later.



Remember when you were three,

Your friends mum chased you down the beach

Because she thought you’d thrown sand

At her precious daughter

Who could do no wrong, of course,

But had started the whole thing?



Did you lock the car when you came home?

You had work on your mind, distracted,

And you could have easily forgotten.

Not that it’s worth stealing.

But there’s that jacket you like

Draped on the back seat, just in case.



But what about when you were thirteen

And your dad took you skiing

But there were the guys he hung out with

Who thought you were older than you were,

And you didn’t like how they acted

Or spoke, or looked at you.



Oh, and there’s that meeting tomorrow

That you should have prepared for more

But now you can’t remember anything

About what you’re meant to be discussing

And there’s no way you’re not going to get fired

Because who’d want to employ you, anyway.



And



And


And why can I see stars that are so far away?