Get me on that stage

ZO•Ë /ˈzəʊiː/ (noun) A girl from the North East of England who is training in acting at LAMDA. Zoë acts and photographs people and writes and stuff. Curious about most things

[zozybee]

when love felt safe

one hand

homemade coffee (in matching keep cups)

the other hand

his hand

frozen fingertips on a hot rush

hibernating hearts awoken with a soft touch

crisp blue skies on hopeful mornings

promises made on 11:11

kisses softer than silk scarves

cuddles in the morning

in the evening

in the afternoon

a joint effort at a gravy dinner

our nighttime ritual of love yous and got yous

sharing bourneville buttons like they were love tokens on our walk home

the cove in your chest right under your sternum

the step outside kindred where we shivered and lunched

dancing with you

tomorrow being so far away

[zozybee]

when I’m home

I miss you

the carpets have absorbed your voice

the walls still tingly with its vibrations

the sun paints shadows where you laid

everything feels fucking weird

like you’re a ghost brushing my shoulder

breathing down my neck

reminding me of memories I made up

I can’t gage what’s good or bad

nostalgia is painful and fake

[zozybee]

coffee foam and sudocrem

flip up my laptop screen again

eyes blanketed with blue light

they say there’s blue-less days in sight

I see stretches with no faces

dry skin and spots of lonely places

drink some wine til you feel sober

my microwaved peas two weeks leftover

there’s pigeons on the roof cooing and kissing

free from milk, the cat is hissing

our zoom fatigue is fucking sweaty

you leave the meeting, expect confetti

but we’re dependent on the trees

and the roots keep unearthing and we’re back out at sea

[zozybee]

[zozybee]

my angel, flung out of space

[zozybee]

Right now

It seems like there won’t be a day

When he’s not in your thoughts

When the ache’s not at bay

But I promise you

Time lightens the load

Soon you will breathe afresh

Travel down a new road

Right now

It seems there’s no hope to forget

But my love, there’s so much to remember

And plenty to feel yet

[zozybee]

give by carol ann duffy

[zozybee]

happy anniversary, stranger

quarter to eight, are you running late?

you’re usually here by now

but my hair’s still a state

quarter to nine, everything is fine

but you haven’t called me yet

or given me an ETA

quarter to ten, I remember when

I had to knock on your door

for fear of being rude

though your mum always told me to walk in

quarter to eleven, I should have told you seven

maybe then you’d have been here

to toast with me

quarter to twelve, let’s delve

in to this time 3 years ago

my bus was late

the driver asked me on a date

quarter to one, oh wasn’t it fun?

drowning in a poet’s ink

rewriting how our ship’s would sink

quarter to two, I send wishes to you

I hope your nights are warm

and your mornings as lazy

as ours

[zozybee]

rain by carol ann duffy

[zozybee]

Now there’s Matt Maltese back in the flat,

Cigarette butts welcoming me at the door,

Burnt leaves twisted in the spiderwebs in the hall,

I once again find myself romanticising it-

The artist’s way, the way it plays smooth jazz,

The way it drinks ruby red and steals from your tongue,

How the poet returns with her typewriter

With her fingers too cold to type.

[zozybee]

the poet’s choice

[storiavitali]

I've been contemplating animals

that live deep within caves

and lose their colour.

Snakes for example

that change

from green to murkish brown

once light is scarce.

People can be like that too

when dwelling inside themselves

for so long.

Deprived of the catalysts

for growth--

wading through

abysmal stagnation.

[storiavitali]

"Isn't it time these most ancient sorrows at last bore fruit? Time we tenderly detached ourselves from the loved one and stood free: the way the arrow, suddenly all vector, survives the string to be more than itself. For abiding is nowhere."

Rainer Maria Rilke

[zozybee]

Don’t build hope on something broken

I am not cartoon

Cry for help, I am not joking

I might just leave soon

[zozybee]

When I think of you

I see you in the bath amongst bubbles reading JFK

I hear you making silly sounds, squawking like a bird

I feel your arm under my lower back and your head in the curve of my neck

I feel your lips on mine, I will never forget

When I think of you

I see you in Waterstones with a breakfast tea and soya milk

I hear you playing piano the morning after the first night

I see you wrapped up in my orange turtleneck in that freezing cold cabin in the Lakes

I can smell your Bleu de Chanel leftover on my sheets

When I think of you

I see you at your breakfast bar, lost in your book

I feel your hand loosely in mine with your promise never to let go

I hear jazz and wine sips and the tap of our toes

I feel the warmth of your body and the cold of your feet

When I think of you

I see you two steps ahead of me on Derwent walk

Sitting next to me on the bench with the rest of our lives ahead of us

I think of you naming the birds above us ‘blueberry swingers’, which soon became ‘blueberry flappers’

I see you laid down looking over me as though the stars had exploded across the sky, all at once

When I think of you

I think of Amsterdam and the bed that drowned us

I think about your fanatical mind

How you could never be The Crow

Darling how I miss you, how I think of you all the time

[zozybee]

There’s beauty in seeing you with her

Lost hope, jealousy, pain

fizzing away in your lemonade

as you sit side by side at the bar

and find each other’s gaze

You discover anew a radiant smile

you thought remained hidden under my hair

in that Dutch late August breeze

A busy buzz that tickles your lips

as you fish for words to fill in the spaces

Swimming up from the well

you thought you were drowning in

I see you unravel my grey scarf from your neck

And let it perch on the bar beside you

My whole world thuds

Beating under the bench outside

Timpani drums pounding in my ears

And then you turn away

To her

I want to take it back

Remove myself from you

Retrieve some part of me that’s lost

But as I stumble inside

and the drumbeat grows stronger

I know that when the night is over

You’ll put back on my scarf

And take me home with you

[zozybee]

I could write a poem about those creases on your forehead

The strain they’ve bared

The attention they’ve received

The fingers they’ve felt

The hunger, their plead

The friends they’ve lost

The lusty nights, the need

The lines they’ve written

The loves they’ve grieved

I could write a poem about those creases