#brickmeetmortar

[brickmeetmortar-blog]

.

Surrender fear, Victim.

Heal Thyself

—z.j.m

[poeticstories]

calamine (for my mother)

for all the acid of my tongue

i weep

milky tears that soothe the chronic flush

for i remember your murky dreams of the bad man;

i see him, sat beside you now in waking

pulsing with your stolen breath,

the absence of which has left this room

cold

i feel your shudder pulse through my own

and in turn, how much it must hurt to know

that from the start

it was me who created me.

@brickmeetmortar

[brickmeetmortar-blog]

Linda’s Lover

Come settle, quick,

we don’t have much time...

We never seem to, do we?

Here, lie down

just like that. There 

now 

Listen, quick

we don’t have much time 

we never seem to 

I want to tell you that I’m sorry 

that I had to go 

Those things I had to do were so 

Listen, please we don’t have much time I know 

we never seem to 

Just 

Know 

I have that thing 

You know? the thing I took away that time 

when we made 

that promise... 

Remember? 

Look

Here 

It’s a bit mucky but 

it’s here 

Here

have it 

No honestly 

take it 

Good.

Now you know 

forever 

and never 

enough time, it seems... 

But look at all of it now!

Nothing but 

time 

it seems. Good. 

It’s good

Good!! 

--- z.j.m

[brickmeetmortar-blog]

.

i tell her i write

averts eyes like crass TV

she doesn’t read me

-- z.j.m

[brickmeetmortar-blog]

a second second coming

in February Things fell apart

i reassembled them with

trench-mud mortar and created    something

bigger

greater but

i couldn’t hold the centre

in May i called upon the Blood Tides

so i could blot them

maybe shock Them into pride

i couldn’t hold the centre

July i drowned the ceremony for a vaster Image

and the Revelation came

still

i couldn’t hold the centre

Summer spent turning and turning and

yearning

then spurning passions, intense like Anarchy

i could NOT hold the centre

by November the cold bites

but here’s another Beast to keep me warm

Rough pelt but soft gaze, and we

hold the centre

eyelids flutter, waking

side by side stride towards January

to be born.

– z.j.m

———————————-

A little ditty based on one of my favourite poems, The Second Coming by W.B Yeats - for reasons not quite known I can’t get it out of my head recently, so this was some kinda catharsis.

2017 has been batshit crazy in terrible, beautiful ways.

Me: Big up Will Yeats for gifting me the means to express some reflections on it

Yeats: *turns in grave*