stars in disguise

The melancholy moon, with a

bite out of its side,

does a smiley for the stars

surrounding.

The constellated night jewels

catch my breath,

lining up for their sightly

performance.

Minor. Major.

Who cares what key

they play their twinkly

chords in.

Their well-placed face,

their bling, their show,

will make the dark more

bearable.

Yet the brightest one

I only have eyes for:

It squeezes my heart’s

accordion.

For Day Two of NaPoWriMo: a poem about stars

the deceit of loss

A furbo fox slips through a net,

a chicken gets surprised.

A wily boss keeps staff on board

with an ever-decreasing prize.

A playboy fools again his wife,

who withholds the sex he craves,

in denial that his wayward ways

will help to cheat the grave.

The soul gets bought with cash or time,

depends on what’s for sale.

Life’s random cull will cut and run,

and blur success with fail.

A famous face suddenly lost, now

is odds to top the charts.

A eulogistic comedy face

is drawing the last laugh.

I can’t find my mother

I can’t find my mother in work,

but I can locate her

in the deepest of hurts.

I can’t find my mother when I drive,

as people cut me up, in the

conflict they contrive.

I can’t find my mother when I cry

for what I’ve lost

and my lungs are turned dry.

I can’t find my mother in love

that’s pretend; a glamour

that’s just a rubber glove.

I can’t find my mother when

betrayal means bereft.

There’s nothing left then.

the anxiety of an adult orphan

There’s no one now older than me.

That makes me top of the family tree

There’s no one below to catch my fall.

I’m alone with old photo albums to trawl.

Thought I’d be fine after decades of their stress,

but from their loss there’s now an emptiness

I never expected to feel. After years of abuse

I honestly thought I had nothing to lose.

I hated for so long, resenting them fully

never feeling free to be what I could be.

And yet, without them here, my cellular sense

is vague and unsupported. Money matters clench

my tummy tight, as fear snakes up my throat,

my heart feels hard against parented people who gloat

at their mother’s day, father’s day cards and meals.

Quietly I know that one day they too will have to feel

what it’s like to lose and never get back that chance

to appreciate, to forgive, to enjoy the dance.