Tiny spontaneous poems (and silly even)

Criminaleatin’

I was woken up in the middle of the night
(a couple of times in fact)
by the vivid image of a heart,
covered in melting fluid, almost throbbing,
It was being taken, snatched out
voraciously ripped as if
with mercy I so doubt
While two onlookers sit
in absolute disbelief
of such impulsive selfless act
they cannot understand.
Nothing is said, no apology or retract
let alone an explanation or attempt..
With no much option left
they continue to eat the rest
in what that theft has left
of that Yummcha banana cake
Now’s just without its moist, sweet, heart…


My Crooked Book

Consternation vastly flooding, an invasion of unknown & nerve-wrecking formulation… What formation! Lines of thought …trains in line, when it’s fine it is mine
Yet my dear old dear whine stirs it all, breaks the spine, leaves a gap. You know what? Interruption in this act. Act! At quack …brings perhaps a missing fact
Missing fact, my act, missing dad. Letter, lies and oh surprise! if it dies…
Please take a look, run a dip, dive inside, take a ride;
in my book I do find if so my, to be in spite of all these lies
Don’t let me go for I will cry, don’t ask me why,
just take a look, a big good look in my crooked
book …


Breathe Ahoy!

Breathe ahoy avohai my.. my.. sleep but do not die!
Breathe ahoy avohai sigh sigh, chin up high.
Your morale it’s normaaaal, low a plunge, be my lie…
Breathe ahoy avohai sway in dreams in dim light!

 

Good to hear you’re well!

They tell me you are doing great, yes, they tell me that you are!
-He said with a tone of authentic joy and an all too familiar charm
(meanwhile she tries to think who that may be, who is it that he knows, that she knows
They’re still in touch, they have spoken a few words, hmm…
Hmm… no, it couldn’t be him, too bizarre!
Nor could it be that, too far!
Is he serious or is he trying to be kind, to gain some time?
Perhaps attempting to even remember her name, to place her face?
She could see his eyes connecting dots through questions cleverly arranged
so to trace a thread back and confirm a cloudy yet pressing thought of who she was
But no, it couldn’t be that, he knew her well, well back!
Confusion came at the moment when
a friend’s name was mentioned …
Yes, perhaps…
Or was it less of finding who she was but o’a desire track?
Ten years, reverse in line and you will find
a Christmas spent together, icy Maida Vale, a place to sigh
pleasures lived in ways they do remember,
illusions grew the way they do, the lists of gifts in Santa letters
a sporadic fling, could they call it that?
A quickly-melting dream of crazy love in fact?
Is it not, the most prevailing; that gift that never comes,
the one that stays as memory, it weirdly treasures
that one undelivered gift which children keep for long
so profoundly in their heart and so close to their bone?
So it is indeed, about all that, that very gift she never got