Category Archives: poetry

a poem for my pointes

Posted on by inktuition
3

inktuition pointes

You live in a box of 70s plastic blue,

a doting reminder of

what I quickly outgrew.

Opened, it exudes a scent of resin

that transports me back

to being eleven.

One touch of your fragrant satin

and I’m back on stage in

a pirouetting pattern.

Your robust pointes are carefully sewn,

your ribbons a symbol of our tie.

To you my love I’ve always shown.

From that first day you were moulded to me.

You are singularly mine, today,

as I was back then: size three.

The day we met, I became whole.

I wept when ballet lessons stopped.

Only the smell of you, now, helps console.

This is for Day 7 of NaPoWriMo

NaPoWriMo Day 6: Needy Garden

Posted on by inktuition
1

The squirrel, with its impudent tail,

scampers up the newly lush tree, showing off

as if it owns the entire garden.

The shed, with its failing structures,

leans too far into the neighbouring wood, knowing

the next door will lay into it soon.

The moss, with its fluffy yet treacherous mould,

spreads across stones like a fungus, meandering

as it pretends nonchalance, but failing.

NaPoWriMo Day 5: The Golden Shovel

Posted on by inktuition
4

I’m still in shock that,

of all my lovers, you –

honest to the core – were

hard to please. Made me feel less

than those you said you’d deceived.

I gave my all, I never put you out

Yet you feigned you were on

when really you were out, on that

desire to claim, on that will to bed,

your obvious needs much more than

I could bring. And yet friends ask of you: is he

the man he always was?

Or is he fumbling and stumbling?

Pretending through his down that he’s up?

As you tread from day to night-time gap, the

lack of sex and intimacy trap, the breathless

lull that leaves you stuck: you climb the stair

to meet him there, urging with some force to

leave his control behind, let some dormant force come forth and burst.

Oh that he leaves his ‘stuff’ behind, changes into

a being that seeks some life fulfilment’s

dream. No more the live-alone desolate

feeling. Can he release the guff that’s trapped in his attic?

Original poem: last four lines of Philip Larkin’s Deceptions 

A Charm Against Losing Yourself

Posted on by inktuition
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Take one low self-esteem

and challenge its main themes:

stop thinking ugly duck

let those bullies self-destruct.

Change the way you mirror

to see yourself much clearer.

Chuck that tired old clutter,

keep that stuff that matters.

Take a good old look

at what keeps you so damn stuck.

Let your tongue slip down a sled,

letting go all that’s unsaid.

Create a dumping ground

to feel loved, alive and found.

leaning into the lonely

Posted on by inktuition
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There’s a magnetic lean to the front

of the elderly, knowing they’re dying.

Will I be next, they say

as their curiosity bends in

to smell the freshly tossed earth,

circling the inevitable grave.

There’s a reticence from the heart

of the broken soul knowing it’s over.

Will I finally leave, they ask,

as they submit to one more abuse

from a partner who says they deserve it.

When will alone beat feeling lonely?

feeling dismissed

Posted on by inktuition
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I’m trying to talk,

you look at your watch.

I want your time

but you’re far too cross.

Those lines on your forehead

show you’re far too busy

to raise your glance or

heed the neediest me.

I pluck up some puff

to express how I feel

but your eyes become glazed.

My spine loses its steel.

So what I really want to say

feels unworthy, goes unsaid.

All I want’s a shred of praise

But I flush with shame instead.

I never was, and won’t ever be

enough to be front of mind.

The words I speak to you are mute.

By dismissal I’m undermined.

So I stop showing myself out loud

The treasure is hidden deep.

It’s only my words that know the secrets

my sorry heart’s been forced to keep.