CRACKED HANDS and other poems

These ones weren't included in The Slab but I'm going to be putting on some of my favourites, regardless

CRACKED HANDS
for Eddie

Descending on us, encaptured in smooth vines
Delightful and exotic, the first signs
Of adulthood as we are lifted from innocence
To charm and bewilder; offence is your defence.

As a child I longed for this blossoming
Long before my time, the mysterious life of the teen
Featured in every film, subject of every song;
My childhood dream tinged with adult sheen.

Now I wish for my old imagination;
Vivid, immense, full of shades I no longer see.
Thinking is painful, I bow to frustration;
My younger self would be disappointed in me.

So I look to the wall, where the skin I have shed
Is pinned with some plans I had hoped to have done.
The back of my hands are starting to crack
As I wonder who else myself will become.




GOOD FOR THE SOUL

I am not religious; I
Don’t believe in souls or
Higher routes of life, so
What part of me is replenished
After certain nights with you? What
Part of my memory is
Heated by crap music? There’s
Strangers in the kitchen; the
Hamster’s being terrorised. What
Part of me is complete at
Four AM with you, whilst
Passing the last bottle around the
Last who’ve stayed awake?




THE ACCIDENT

Slowed down time, like air was tar.
There's blood on the hot tarmac.
Running away from the crash, a man;
A man with cuts on his face. A car
With marks on the roof. A bike with
Dents left as scrap. He just ran and
Left a bloody trail. Time was slow
(Like the air had hardened), a shriek,
Dull thud, metal bending, a vivid streak of red.
The scene played over again in my head.



More will be coming soon as and when I edit/complete/write them.

Katie