‘Leaves’: a poem

Leaves are boundless,
with aid,
with company,

They do not wish to be side-barred
into the creases where walls meet the ground,
where young children are dragged away from
by middle-class, efficient, authoritarian parents.

Leaves

are like adolescent dogs in shelters
past their prime now,
but still there,
too ugly to win over loneliness

Leaves have a chance
There are no ugly leaves,
No plaintive-eyed, badly bred leaves
with a history of violence.

They long to be disturbed
from their resting nook,
kicked into dervish

I give them what they want.

Advertisements

‘Tony’: a portrait poem

Sometimes he smokes
Always he fidgets
Full of relentless kindness
and energy, pulsing,
stuttering through him
muscles twitching
like his speech,
too excited to move at a reasonable pace,
tripping over himself
lips constantly parting as if to speak,
flustered little inhalations
at least two or three before
he finally speaks to me
and by then I am captivated
as if I could have been anything else before.

‘Stu’: a portrait poem

The loveable chav football lover
with a penchant for OCD
The biggest, most generous heart
and, at other times, the foulest mouth,
surprising me with his occasional uncharacteristic anger
at small personal traits
the exceptions to the rule of his outgoing, widespread warmth.
Informing me of his justification
while carefully arranging beer mats in a flat square fortress around his drink.
Always happy to play the fool, butt the jokes,
Anything to keep the peace and to keep alive the easy flow of conversation and good vibes.
A recently matured thirst for acting and writing
driving passion through his eyes and mouth
as he forms impressive foam feats
on cappuccinos and lattes
smirking with shy pride and pushing your sculpted luxury toward you across the counter,
with a discount and a wink.
A loving partner contented in his situation,
waiting to become a loving husband and father.

‘James’: a portrait poem

Bouncing Scandinavian curls
Fabulous
Fabulous, fabulous James.
Clear, refreshing, clean blue eyes
and intelligent good intentions
Patience in bated breath, generous, selfless pauses
followed by slow-release laughter, chuckles, sometimes taking him by surprise and doubling over, rolling on.
Fox-like, gentlemanly habits,
He glides and strides like a perfect dancer,
enveloped in scarves that women are drawn to,
chasing playfully down foreign streets.
His every sentence uttered, every assembly of words, is thoughtful and considered, a trait that I am always impressed by.
That biting point of bated breath upon ready loose laughter is what I know most in him, what I strive towards in our every interaction.
A like mind that I find I can tickle, to my great self-satisfaction.