TWEN2Y-EI8HT
A collection of poems and thoughts
By Zac Thraves
Copyright 2012 Zac Thraves
In the beginning there waslove, and it grew out of me like a sickness. The darkness of need and want; the despair of jealousy and yearning’ the sickening crumpling of feeling lost when you realise that you are in love.
Love should be avoided…
Early Sundays
Your delicate hand,
joined to rising breast,
my still-life body
your brachium rest.
Your legs entwined
against my warming thighs;
my wistful gaze
toward the lightening sky.
Your breath gasping
on this bristled face;
my heart awakened
with each fingers trace.
Your words linger
behind bridling view,
my slow acceptance
that your terms are true.
Your lips tender touch
on excited skin;
my sanguine smile
as our day begins.
Your morning sunshine,
your time to dance.
My welcome arms.
My final chance.
In the style of Neruda
I Hate Sunday Mornings Because
I hate Sunday mornings because
it is then I can love you,
and I know that in loving you
we will be consumed until,
it will finish,
before it has begun.
I love Sunday’s but as I lie in
your arms, with the sun
bleaching the blinds,
I hear the day tick by
and hate that
it won’t cease.
In stopping time, the winter
mornings will become as
long as summer’s
and we will
smoulder, while
we satisfy our hearts.
But the morning dies
and drifts into afternoon,
which then promises evening,
we will wake from one
another; then I won’t see you again,
my love, until Sunday morning.
----------------------------
A woman sits at a table alone. On the table sits a slumped string puppet, ragged and old with only one string attached to its arm.
The woman echoes the puppets body language, sullen, with arms across the table and her head on her shoulder.
Woman:
I’m like this puppet, holding on with a single string to life, to movement, to any sense of animation. I can pull this hollow person into a kind of being, I have the power to do so, to bring this docile figure awake with a single flick of my wrist. It’s painted smile on her ageing face cannot hide her uncomfortable and inevitable future; a future of nothing, of being abandoned in a box or left out with the rubbish waiting for collection. A future of eternal blankness once that final string works itself loose.
I know what she needs, she needs a professional, an artistic and nimble hand with creativity and ideas to put her back together, to restore her to her former self. To re-new and re-energise her so that once more her legs can dance while her arms swing about above her head. Her head can hold high, lifting up to the sky and watching the expectant crowd with the confidence that she will deliver and delight. To dance again, to feel the joy and laughter once more. She deserves that, she needs it. Yet she sits, forlorn, stuck, unable to move unless someone moves her, while I wait for I know no such person who can bring her back into her life of promise.
She had such hopes for me, such dreams; when she unpacked from the box all those years ago, shiny and bright she promised endless fun and games, I promised that too. As if we had a beautiful summer-like life ahead of us together. Then the scissors fell, the biting and harsh cold steel came down and snipped away, piece by piece, at her fragile string. Cut away, too easily, far too easily, removing any hint of what might have been and what could have been. It cut, painfully and frighteningly easily, to leave her sunk, inside herself; wishing that someone would come and rescue her from this empty spotlight that is about to fade. The audience left years ago, her stage is empty, now all she has is me, and all I have is what I wished I could have done for her.
Sleep Alone; Wake Together
You always leave me in my dreams;
last night you walked away
while I stopped,
crouching,
tying my shoe-lace;
I looked up and there you were,
as I thought,
gone.
Nowhere to be seen
amidst the crowd of busy bees
bustling with their heavy bags.
Yet it felt empty,
as I silently called your name,
listened;
stared,
for your jet black hair
to bounce back to me.
But there you were,
gone;
and I never saw you again.
-------------------------
Inky-Veiled Heart
Slowly the inky-veil descends,
Like a theatrical curtain announcing the end.
Heavy grey clouds choke the ether;
breathing disjointed; feels like forever.
Falling to the ground like rain-soaked stone;
leaves dropping gently into the winter terrain.
The black dog is here with its ferocious bark
and the world once bright is moonless and stark.
Angelic eyes are broken and bent,
staring with a devils intense intent;
gone is the light that burned in the mind,
replaced by sight vacant and blind.
Though beautiful birds still soar high,
they are crows as black as the heart inside.
Life appears lost in regretful shapes,
solace in a carafe of dark-red grapes;
romance promised, by the blood-red solution.
Answers surely lie at its final resolution.
Become that which the soul feeds instead-
empty; remote; unattached; dead.
Snow-Bound
Quiet
be still
watch flakes fall softly onto sheets
white
harsh
bitter
fingers numbed
hostile heart
raw soul
but calm
cleansing
celestial
beauty
birds
remain distant
lack song
add mystery
add wonder
add pain
--------------
Neruda – Shivers
Shivers slither on skin, paralysed and fragile;
your breathe of soft, eloquent voice
an icy wind that stings at my eyes.
Your burning touch that freezes blood
and brands your fingerprints to my arm.
Your sublime pain shoots
like a springing flower and I embrace it all,
because it reminds me of
you.
Galloping Horses
Galloping horses
with coarse wind billowing their manes
and cries of pain,
again;
whisper all I hear
when I keep you near, in here
and fear
that I will never see
those beautiful manes flow
while you grow
and show what I know
to the rest of the world,
while I curl, in my ball
/> that you will never see
and feel sure
on the floor as I implore
not to give in anymore
56 minutes ago…a poem about my children, for my children
56 minutes ago...
this house was
filled with laughter;
now I walk in
footsteps of ghosts.
Prickling eyes scolded
with hurt as they grapple
to see you once more.
In my photographic mind
you are a negative;
a memory that I strive
to hold on to; fading and blurred.
Fingertips touch all you have
touched, all that remains,
of you,
untouched. Still. Yet
I saw you just
56 minutes ago.
---------------------------
Close your eyes
black hole inside
swirling in darkened sight
and my mind
skirts the edge
anxiously avoiding
the desire to slip
deep into the vortex
of thoughts
angry
painful
despairing
red glow
shimmers
as I drift
into dream
nightmare
of the soul
while the black
core
the eye of the hole
lures me in.
-----------------------------
Intense tears gently slip,
while the clamorous clock ticks,
with my beating knee;
and inside my breast,
this pain within my chest
stays my soul from rest
burns my sky,
wingless flight,
will never see the sight.
Rain caresses my brow,
head bows, patiently low,
see my ragged knee,
see your burning breast;
take your crystal hand,
disintegrating sand;
my fingers slip,
lose the grip,
with desire, touch your lip.
Autumn Flower
Dead
autumn brown
reflects this diseased passion within;
And thriving bud of bloom
is my scolded soul come to life.
Bright.
Let me in;
I wait at your moss-daubed dry-stone walls;
greying, protective church;
my floret-heart beats still for you.
Still,
peaceful you;
withered deity of affection;
illumine your petals
and liberate your stamen soul.
Ex-
hale slowly;
though bitter breeze tears into my eyes
by assassination;
I forgive your bleak, vacant stare.
Come
back to me.
You haunted rose who charmed crimson blood.
Be the beam for whom I
reach and shelter me from my-self.
Twilight’s Comfort
Funereal cloud drapes
like a stiff winter coat
on my scarred back;
beaten with the horse-whip
of time
and bleeding forever.
Sacrifice of life while
gazing in the gloom.
As twilight wraps her
long fingers
around limbs
so weak,
exhausted by anger
fear,
of anger;
gently she lays
my head on her lap
encrusted with carnage,
memories of wars.
I lay;
fatigued of the journey
and listen to the words,
grief, desolation, want;
echo about these vast
halls of my head,
like ancient stone corridors
recrimination rebounds,
emptiness swallows,
my trampled soul.
Cling to a Memory
If I stop to think:
I can sense your breathe
on my neck;
tiny beads of your vapour
that sink into my form
and give brilliance behind
my eyes,
then illuminates my
translucent skin.
I feel your gentle touch
yet
know it’s just an illusion;
cruel illusion of the brain,
apparition memory.
An aspiration, a hope,
forever unfulfilled.
I know you are there,
as the harsh coastal breeze
is an echo of the sea;
yet I cannot see you
while you shuffle about your own
world,
mine remains empty,
hollow,
filled only with fairy-tale memories.
I try to see you, a picture
in my mind
while I haunt you and
refuse to admit,
I’m clinging on.
T
hrough Youthful Eyes
It breaks my heart
when I see you cry;
and those youthful eyes
shine with diamond tears,
from my inner fears,
when I have to say
goodbye.
Sometimes I wish
that I could not go;
and you remained close,
no longer alone,
our days filled with
hello's.
But I revolved,
though I cling to you,
so that youthful eyes
can see, through me, that
there is something more,
for you.
-------------------------
Peter and the Wolf
I am the wolf
The wolf who hides away
I huddle up deep
And vanish in bushes
my eagle eye chases away
the children who come out to play.
I am the fear
Within their eyes
Children’s dreams
I come out at night
My steely claws rip apart
As moonshine glows, destruction starts.
The nightmare beast
I feast on screams
With determination
My fierce eyes stare
A yelp and bark from in my soul
In their empty gardens I take my stroll.
But then I saw him
A boy of grace
Who stood before me
And stayed with strength
I cowered low and prepared to fight
This curious creature on this frightening night.
He crouched before me
As if I were the king
Lowered his body
And his eyes shone
My claw then tore his delicate flesh
And he fell to the ground gripped with death.
Slowly he stood
A man from the boy
I huddled back deep
o vanish in the bushes
He held out a hand that dripped with blood
I looked in his eyes and understood.
He was like me
Angry and confused
Not accepted by man
Just needing to be understood
I lowered my head though eyes stayed firm
And he spoke so softly I had to learn.
I am wolf
I barked with pride
I am not
Was his reply
Ashamed I walked toward his arm
And he lifted me into his world of no harm.
We wal
k together
Like brothers in arms
Children flock
To stroke my fur
I smile within when I see his eyes
For we both now have no need to cry.
We are the wolf
We run and play
We cuddle up deep
As the day fades away
-----------------------------
Love Consumes
I miss you;
as the bitter wind filters through the crack in the window
that I leave open
for you to slip through,
even though I know that it will never be true,
I miss you.
While the clock gently ticks each hour that lasts
as long as day
and I stop it
in the hope that it will call you to me,
but that will not be;
I miss you,
and this life carries on regardless of love that burns
and cuts my heart
in two
for you,
because I miss you.
---------------------------
Butterflies;
spreading their kaleidoscope
wings;
and soaring
way up high,
breathing in the magical air
that's you
and me
as we see
more to make us cry;
like butterflies,
calling with their colour
for us to go home;
giving us freedom
to float
in our world
of blue
of sea
and of sky;
with our butterflies
within us,
constantly fluttering,
nerve shattering.
Sending us hopefully
with hearts
toward our destiny
with our butterflies.
-------
Dawn hangs on for a little while longer;
as raw mist smothers the land.
Sun strangled by winters harsh blanket,
sky droops frozen in this seasons hands.
Trees bend double as they brace the wind;
hedgerows brittle as they cling dearly to life.
Snow, falls softly, unseen in the brume
and cakes our home in white.
The day stretches on, as short as it is
and weeks mosey by like a month;
strain to the birds if they dare to tune,
Come spring, we’ve all had enough!
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