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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