The Parisian Cafe

Photo by Timea Kadar on Pexels.com

In the city of lights, the city of love, there I was
without them both idly observing passersby
outside a café one summer evening
pacing back and forth, stealing covert glances,
hoping for one to catch my eye.

Was someone out there to hold onto
or had each moment longed for escaped?

Heartbroken and alone,
the emptiness needed a fill.
In need of a drink combined with the heat
stroked the urge
to forget why I was there.

In a daze walking into that dark café,
it appeared those glances weren’t wasted.
A pair of hands slowly reached for mine
pulling me into the intimacy of the night.

Before I knew it, we were swept away
and headed back to his place.

Love bites marked a moment not soon forgotten,
a moment not to be hidden.
The marks of a lustful moment,
wantonness craved,
and a need to escape.

I was not my usual self.
I’m not always carefree.
I blame the drink and the city,
for its toxicity drowned me.

*A revision of the original poem from June 2020.

Out of The Dark Corners

Out of the dark corners,
images of another time
creep into the forefront
of my mind.

Images of you and I
mix with the scenery.
Our bodies entwine
in front of me.

Shining down or seeping in,
blurring the focus
of what actually broke us.

Layering conversations,
our wanting to be held close,
I jump into the frame and breathe us in.

After a leap of faith,
I feel the sting from a slap in the face.
I question if I ever had you by my side.

Unsure of what to do,
I figure there’s nothing left for us here
if all we have are streaming tears.

It’s All Okay [with audio]

*spoken word*

It was close to the time we arranged to meet
here on our favorite park bench,
the one that overlooked the town green.

I sat with a view of passersby,
taking a glance at my watch
every once in a while.

It was any moment now,
the ripping away,
the bandage stripping off.

We didn’t need the words,
we both knew it had come to this.

You walked up with a carefree smile
and an ice cream cone
to smooth out the tone.

Your tongue rounded the ice cream,
like the times it used to do the same to me.

We couldn’t get back to those times,
before we hurled hate and indifference,
before you’d throw the suitcase into the trunk and disappear
but return to say ‘it’s all okay, it never meant anything anyway.’

So here we sat
with an impending implosion of my heart
while yours left months ago.

I turned and asked for a bite,
as memory flashes recalled bites taken
from your ears and down your neck,
lustful moments that we’ll never get back.

“So, this is it?” I asked already knowing the answer.
“This is it. It’s okay, we’ll be fine,” you replied.

The words were empty,
spoken as if you had already left,
spoken to reassure me,
that I would be fine
but you had already sailed on
and this was all formality.

“Okay… okay. I’ll be fine. You don’t have to …” I insisted.
Your eyes met mine,
cold but still with a bit of care.
‘Are you sure?’ you persisted.

Nodding, I pulled the ice cream from your hand,
swirled my tongue around and tried to replace the image
where my tongue knew it had ought to be.

in your flood

one step out the door
one step forward
one step closer
to the flood

one step backwards
one step in reverse
one step away
from drowning

a punch to the gut
and tears streaming,
more than the smiles
more than the ‘i love you’s

and how many more years like this
how much can i take like this

i agreed to ever after
but this now, these lows
i can do without
i barely survive the crash
before the next one arrives

give me time to breathe
give me time to survive
give me time in the clearing
before i drown
in your flood

I wish it didn’t sting

I wish it didn’t sting
when rejection tears apart
what I’ve poured my heart into,
hidden emotions or fragments thereof
painting scenes that tiptoe quietly
or outright screams.

I wish it didn’t sting
when he doesn’t think much of me,
but rather holds a love
kept at a distance that silently breaks
both of us apart.

I wish it didn’t sting
when correspondence stops like
a drought after the flood,
after love cascaded faithfully
to comply with the dream.

I wish it didn’t sting
when I hear his poetry;
the voice that gets to the depth of me.
And I realize all those lustful moments
and longing nights have ceased.

I wish it didn’t sting
when my daughter looks to me
for answers. Her big eyes searching
for meaning and I come up empty;
I’ve got nothing.

I wish it didn’t sting,
when all I have
is nothing.

Deconstruction Site

How many times do we take
the leap before we realize
we’ve jumped in too deep

How many times do we stop
to realize we need to
protect our insides

How many times does this heart
have to break; this love,
you too shall take

He was the one healing
the deepest scar,
the wound he created,
only to tear it apart
as he twists the knife
churning everything
inside of me

The Warm and Longing Heart

Have you ever used a poem generator? The following was composed with a few nouns and adjectives plugged into a poem generator and written to the structure of Robert Frost’s ‘Stopping by Woods on a Snowy Evening’. Not something I would normally do to construct a poem, but it may help those looking for ideas.

Whose heart is that? I think I know
Its owner is quite tragic though
It’s a sad tale of woe
Watching her, I cry out a hello

She gives her heart a shake
And sobs until the tears make
The only other sounds that break
The distant waves and birds awake

The heart is warm, longing, and deep
But she has promises to keep
Until then she shall not sleep
She lies in bed with ducts that weep

She rises from her bitter bed
With thoughts of sadness in her head
She idolises being dead
Facing the day with never ending dread

The Haunting

Is it better to have a love lost
Not knowing about the other side
To have a deep hole in your heart
To keep what was lost in the past
And always wonder ‘what if’

Or to have it come back,
Haunt you
And realize it was true
Always has been
And he’s thinking of you, too

With thousands of miles away
You both have commitments
There’s no future
Only the present moment
And the lingering love you still carry

The pain is great either way
My heart is aching and beating more
Than it has ever before


Listen to my poems on SoundCloud
This poem, along with others, can be found in my book Coffee Shop Sessions II: Moving Mountains One by One