A poetry Collection
My octopus Teacher
​
It's time to look away,
Abandon my heart and let it decay
there, feed it not with kisses
for the one that it misses
but instead leave it be
and let it die. For, you see,
Mankind are like Octopi,
except we have two arms and we're dry.
​
We can both regrow parts.
Octopi: arms; Humans: hearts.
You go into battle with a leather jacket
a short skirt and a hand cream habit.
​
You throw me to the chapel with your piercing eyes
to repent for my sins till I'm worthy to rise
to your level - baptise me in Taylor and huel
walk with me, talk with me, knock with me, you'll
slay your demons with a disarming laugh,
a palpable awkwardness that could cast
a smile to every face in every room -
you're irrevocably radiant: womanhood in full bloom.
​
So pick up your bag, tuck that hair behind your ears,
stay fine, and be mine. Be mine for years.
German Girl
Leckhampton drive
​
The overhanging limbs of the trees are heavy with moisture
but they are firm, protecting the robin from what annoys her:
the rain above
and the lane below.
​
She sustains her nonchalant ebb and flow.
​
Ah, to flutter to the ground or the bush or the wall
and peck and hop and skip and - stall.
To begin
when you wish
and pause
when the day is bliss:
when the sun reflects in the pool of the puddle
and the wind stops to allow the subtle
buzz of a bee or baa of a ewe
to cut through.
​
Days follow nights
and nights follow days.
Weeks follow weeks
and months till it fades.
​
It remains
pervasive
permeating and invasive
but it doesn't affect me in the way that it did.
​
I am still vulnerable: I work hard to forbid
myself the pleasure
of leisure
with you as my measure
of happiness -
or my source for that matter.
To hold you, to breathe you, in the rain's pitter-patter
is the mirage of a madman who looked to the shattered
mirror, or perhaps it was he who was broken,
and used it to dream.
Now he has woken.