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Hello, my name is leaf.

Unfurl.

Something’s crawling over my now expanded surface.

I am now no longer a bud but I am big and stretched and flat

And there is something crawling on my back, furry and it nibbles my edges

It tickles.

A caterpillar it tells me is its name

He tells me I am young like all things but I will learn

I float in the breeze all is clear and fresh.

 

It blazes hot – it is so satisfying – eating and eating the light – there is no end

It is wonderful. Life is everywhere – the air is still – but I am so full of life.

The caterpillar comes by again and asks if he may use my branch

Not that I have a choice, but I do not mind I am happy and content.

 

The light has left my life – yellow hides behind grey and white.

I feel myself draining – I realise she was who gave me life.

I see a muddy orange filling my mind, I feel weak

Mr. Caterpillar I think is dead he is in a coffin hanging from my branch.

My edges that once tickled are curling inwards. I feel cold.

 

 

My branch is moving! Mr. Caterpillar’s coffin is moving.

It’s breaking, something is moving inside! I feel once more hope that has not been felt for a long time. Hope of life. But it is not Mr. Caterpillar that emerges but something altogether different, strange. It’s beautiful. Absolutely stunning. So many lost colours that I had forgotten. All I have seen is red and brown. But hear blue’s and purples!
And it is flying. Flying! Higher and Higher, ha! look at that.

Then I realise it is not only getting higher but I am getting lower.

Lower

and

lower

I’m falling

Swaying

Dying?

But look oh so beautiful….

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There were today cut flowers in a bin. Placed stem first into a bin outside the local chippy.Pink daisy, yellow carthamus and purple iris wrapped in plastic wrap head to the sun. Price tag removed.

One: The buyer – only hours ago browsing sainsburys for the perfect bunch. Roses are too obvious, potted too messy, one that looks amazing but £15! on something that’s going to die. No. The resolve of this mission was dying, wondering around the flower islet there it was: A pink daisy that was as pretty and perfect as she was.

Knock, knock, knock.  Adjust tie, wine label forward. Smile. Click, open.

“Miriam!”

Click, close.

KNOCKKNOCKKNOCK

“Miriam, you’re not even going to talk to me!”

BRIIIMMMMMMMZ BRIIIIIMMMZZZ”

Click, open. 

On the outside a sigh of hopefulness – slightly blustered – trying to remember the lines practised in the car.

On the inside a sigh of hopelessness – slightly pitying – trying to remember if she was ever really happy.

“No”


After an indeterminate number of seconds, minutes, hours, he walked, stumbled, ran, to the corner crouched, two, three, four blinks no tears. Sitting in the car tears unabashedly mixed with vinegar soaked chips an open bottle between his legs cigarette ash everywhere.

Two: 20-something girl – who has never know love or heartbreak picks flowers from said bin with surprised delight at her colourful luck, tucks them under her arm while eating her vinegar soaked chips. They now sit on her kitchen table.


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6 years. 3 years. When will I learn.

I guess you never really get over your past. You think you finally have a strong foundation in a friendship. But it had the same holes as all the others; well the one other. They’re harder to see. Sugar coated. Rose coloured. But everything that you thought you had. You realise it was never really there. The same deal. You’ll never be the one to talk to.

So why do sail boats travel the seven seas?

Friendship is not the only ship to never sink. It’s the only one to crash to the bottom of the sea and dent the whole earth. To rust in the deep sea. 

Why sail the sea when there’s land to see?

Friendship is the only ship that can be anchored as easily as drifting and dissapearing. 

Because the water is endless. 

And once lost it is lost forever. 

The open blue will never leave. 

You will never leave me. 

 

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*

Push into the skin

So that it turns white

Press harder

Till you’re sure

There

Almost

 

Break and you’re in

Slide

and feel

Feel

Finally

See Crimson

Flowing

Finally.

 

And the instant regret.

 

And then the push.

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Bunny

Rabbit, Rabbit on the wall

Rabbit, Rabbit why so tall?

Towering, towering you look so queer

Towering, towering full of fear

Why so worried bunny?

‘I’m feeling rather funny,

my chopsticks are too small for my hands

so I can’t eat this Chinese and have to stick to canned.’

 

 

 

 

 

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Escape

Forgot the turmoil,
The ever suffering?
It’s right around that corner
Shrouded, protected by the darkness of the alley
Sitting lonely on the cardboard.
But don’t mind it;
Ear buds in;
Hands in pockets;
Walk on;
Walk on.

But what’s this?

Behind you!

A mass of black duffel coat
Shaking a paper cup.

Walk on duffel coat;
Walk on.

Bow your head and start to dart
Weaving in and out of people
Look around
Growing bigger
Black wires sprouting from the top of the coat
Ragged hair as if it has taken over the whole head
It moves faster

The beads of sweat on your forehead grown.

There!

A bus!

Run!

Jump on the back!

It’s almost gone!

JUMP!

Caught just as it was breaking from the curb
Breathing in and out, turn around, down the street
It’s gone.

Thank God.

Take out the coins from your pocket to pay your fare

And there in the conductors hand

A small paper cup.

Rattling.

Clink.

Clink.

Clink.

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Settle wind, settle.

Whistling wind
Whipping through and through.
A high pitched shriek,
Formula 1 breaking.

Standing I can see you wind
I see the lines you make in the sky
Curved and blurred,
Like a time-lapse photo.

O if only I could see you wind
I’m sure we could be friends.
But all I feel is your cold.
You wrap me up
You get in through my sleeves,
The back of my neck
You make my whole back shiver.

And then you are gone
As quickly as it takes my hair to settle.
But even when I am shielded from you my wind,
I hear your voice;
Your shrill moan
Hail will burst, oh hear!

Inspired by the 160mph Gail force winds in Scotland. *last line borrowed from Shelly. 8/12/11

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Don’t be a sheep.

I think we are all sheep. Yes some are further up the heard trying to get ahead and some are trailing in the way back and need to get spanked to hurry up. But we’re all following; even at the front you may not be following the ‘crowd’ but your following something whether it be the shepherd or good ol’ collie. By the by I like to think I’m somewhere in the middle not so head strong to think I’m driving this train but not so far back, not so in the middle either (where all you can see is white); but one of the ones that stops every now and then to eat some grass or check out that really cool dirt patten or whatever.

I think sheep need more sheep like that ones that just stop a bit come out of the cloud of wool and take note of the path we’re all going along and just have a moment of clarity. Individuality is all well and good but if you never think about why your doing what your doing what’s the point really?

Because whoever you think the sheep herder may be whether it be God, Society or Lady Philosophy eventually we all get led to the slaughter house.

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Passion needs no match.

What do you say to someone whose heart is on fire?
Do you tell them that they are just a liar
not worth the time, not worth the burning tears
Can you really remove all their worthless fears;
Of being left again, of burning forever.

The fire in her heart, in her loins spreading,
spreading through her entirety. The fire is breathing,
breathing without oxygen. How her flames grow
with ev’ry second passing with ev’ry second woe
of being left again, shall I burn forever.