Day (bugger I’m really falling behind) Eight


Long nights lying awake, this lump of uncertainty

Lodged under my heart.

Watching the moon sail across a clouded sea

Of stars. Pockmarked silver crone heedlessly waning.

Me, a beached swollen gourd endlessly waxing.


Now I come howling through this silent night.

Matching the wind, wailing outside the window

leaving telegraph poles and trees upturned in its wake.

I am tide washed, savage – blood-stained and triumphant.


Here he is finally

Blue-crumpled goblin mouthing secret obscenities.

Bawling, reaching out starfish hands to haul back his briny ocean.

Raging, gasping with indignant fury

arching back to strike a fisted blow

To my brow. He is a crumpled moth wing unfurling

Under the fiery heat of my regard.


My spring heeled stranger. Carving out his own space.




3 responses to “Day (bugger I’m really falling behind) Eight

  1. Beautiful. I like the starfish hands.

  2. PS I’m falling behind too! We can do it. 😀

  3. I was wondering whether it was humanly possible for you to keep writing poems of this quality every day. I suppose you might churn out some padding, just for the sake of the challenge, but I’d rather you didn’t.
    Keep writing 🙂

Leave a Reply

Fill in your details below or click an icon to log in: Logo

You are commenting using your account. Log Out /  Change )

Google photo

You are commenting using your Google account. Log Out /  Change )

Twitter picture

You are commenting using your Twitter account. Log Out /  Change )

Facebook photo

You are commenting using your Facebook account. Log Out /  Change )

Connecting to %s