I wanted a god of my own We would be, my god and I, impeccable in our fallibility I wanted a god who rode bicycles and cooked breakfast Burnt her fingers and held them to my lips A god who came home late waking me with her perfume Reaching for me in the fumbling dark…
Tag: poems
Like Earhart
Ever since she left she keeps being gone. It is as if we were notBut if I am unrealWhy is my flesh stained by reality The shy part of my wrist a plum-blue and yellowSkin she has known as obscenely as her fingers reaching inside of my mouth. This is not a case of distance…
Book Review: How Many Countries Does The Indus Cross by Akhil Katyal
How Many Countries Does The Indus Cross by Akhil Katyal My rating: 5 of 5 stars Sitting dumbfounded after having read this whole book in one go. Such a conundrum. Should I take bite-sized morsels and leave some for later? Or ask for the avalanche? The avalanche. Always the drowning. Always the surrender. As…
It is very quiet, very tender today
Lover look, it is finally overcast The sky is heavy-bosomed Breasts burdened with unfed milk Four o’clock is six o’clock, five-thirty is seven The light closes so softly on the day Everywhere the trees wait, wait Birdsong minimises to a hush Snakes seek respite in the dank dark of fallen leaves There are goosebumps…
Book Review: The Sea in You by David Whyte
The Sea in You: Twenty Poems of Requited and Unrequited Love by David Whyte My rating: 5 of 5 stars Reading David Whyte is not unlike praying. He is easily a messiah for our troubled times, bringing with him loaves of compassion, and fishes of insight. David’s writing is a call to that which is…
Your name in my mouth
Where can I go with your name in my mouth? It has sewn me shut with no word to offer. I cannot, anymore, ask for a cup of tea, Say hello when I pick up the phone, Respond to my own name called out. I am the dumb mute that denies the world. To say…
Quarantine
Protect the softest parts of you. The parts that look like hide but are as tender as kitten paws not yet touched the earth. Protect all the tired people in you. The ones who sigh, unable to bear another day. Who look too eagerly toward the ends of things. For whom, to be unseen and unremembered…
What to do with a beautiful thing
Nobody speaks of the woman so beautiful the sight of her brings tears to men’s eyes. Nobody speaks of her anymore; the woman with hair like the monsoon; her lips like ripe figs left too long on the vine. Nobody says a thing tonight of her walking the streets in red, a blur of a…
You bring out the masculine in me
You bring out the man in me The muscle and the sinew of me The ripping forearms and The sweat-dotted brow of me. You bring out the musk and the male The husk and the hewn Firmness of the flesh of the thigh of me You bring to awakening my torrid heat My tenuous passion…
Impasse
Everything I am doing says I love you. I hope you’re reading this. I hope you hear it between your ears. I hope you know. Because I know if you did you’d never let me know.
part-broken, part-whole 