Chris Colderley
All Things Cling
washed up
watching a spider sway
as minutes turn
to wine
sitting, starring ahead
thinking I was
something once too
drinking straight
from the bottle
as the spider
dangles by its
fine thread
leaning forward
I whisper hang on
and offer her
a drink
Burlesque
eroticised landscape
of beauty and gesture
in acrylic
and ink
the blonde
in black stockings
high steps,
her thin long legs
moving outward from
the centre
Guru
I ask if
this is everything
he gestures no
I wait for
something to follow
a smile curls
across his face
he whispers Breathe
that is all
The Lady Disguised as a Poet
(for Deanna)
at first nothing
says different from
any lady you
might meet, then
you consider there
might be a
gentleness, a quiet
cachet that you
did not notice.
the “got poetry”
t-shirt is
out of place –
a soccer mom
cheering for Neruda.
But when she
speaks the pages
don’t match the
cover – pouring language
into the air
the words dissolve
into a soft
song until the
thirst you didn’t
know you had
passes.
Lamentation
I waited
for the moment to explode
like a tight packed
firecracker
watching the wick burn
until the present
burst into memory
becoming dreams
littered by
disappointment
remembering
the brilliant
lights of youth.
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