Invisible

She passes through a door
One that is not held open
She sidles past everyone
Takes a table in the corner
She sits there for hours
And no one notices
It’s one of her superpowers
Something only menopausal woman can do

Spurned

She flushes blue,
Then red and then grey
Taps on the table
No one sees
She types on the lap top
Words of alacrity
That no one ever reads

Glorious

Its poetry
But without the rhyme
The cappuccino she orders
It never arrives
She pays anyway
Someone will profit
She can afford it
A fiver in the tip jar
No one even saw it

Salubrious

In between it all
She sips on a coffee
That is not hers
She takes it from the table
Of the man sitting to the side
He seems endlessly puzzled
Why his coffee is shrinking
He frowns, he gesticulates,
Spreads his legs
Keeps on drinking

Ostentatious

She forgets about pace
If life is a race
She has crossed the finish line
Later on she slips between tables
Through the crowded café
Her hand slips in and out of bags
Wraps itself in scarves
That belong to someone else
No one seems to see her
This is what life is like on the shelf

Perplexing

But there is pleasure
And there is freedom
In being nothing anymore
She hovers in the corner
Takes her clothes off
Drops them on the floor

Egregious

She stands resolute,
Naked and free
She walks through the café
She bumps and she sways
She lets it all hang out
As she wanders away

Gregarious

She has earned her nakedness,
Found out her truth
She walks to the station,
Gets onto the train
Splays her legs open wide
No one says a word
She lives in a world
Where voices are blurred

Salacious

Triumphant, victorious
She walks on home
The joy of just being her
was simply hers to own
No longer judged on how she looks,
What she wore
She laughs til she cries
As she walks through her door.

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A stash of words

And I collect up the words
And put them in a stack
I stick them in the wardrobe
Right at the back

Words I have no use for
No place said out loud
I won’t be using them
Not even in a crowd

Words like ‘averment’
Ones I refuse to write
I’ve put them in the wardrobe
They are out of sight

I can’t tell you what they are
You can never know
I have made them disappear
I have made it so

And now when
There are things I need to say
I will have fewer words
Because I put some away

Now I will be concise
Brief and to the point
You can be all wordy
But I will not be drawn

I will say it shortly
I will say it short
My words will all have meaning
A sprint and not a walk

I think that I have said it
What I want to say
I have put them in a box
I won’t let them play

And yet I keep on writing
8 stanzas in the end
I thought that if I hid them
My writing might amend

But my pen just keeps on working
Like each sentence adds a thought
I can’t seem to stop
Even though I know I ought

I have had an idea now
I know what to do
I will burn the pen
And my notebook too.

The Jar Words

And the words jar

They slam into the wall
They veer left out of control
I overhear the clutter
But I don’t see them fall

They lie in a mess on the ground
A mixed up jumble of letters
A litany of characters
That no longer form a sound

I wonder what I said
As they lie strewn on the grass
Did it make any sense
As it popped into my head

Did I write it down all wrong?

Its a poets bad dream
When the words form oddly
And they just don’t end up
Quite how they seem

I am tempted to walk away
I look at the mess
Littering is an offence
All the signs say

Blowing down the street
My unformed words
A thought I had
But somehow couldn’t keep

Maybe the wind

Will suck them up into the sky
They will then find a better place
A better person
Fall on another poet passing by

Every word I’ve ever known

I have cut my nails
I have pulled out all my hair
Slashed the bottoms of my feet
And let them bleed on the stair

You have to look it in the eye
You cannot back away
You have to look straight at it
Say what you have to say

I pricked the end of every finger
And every single toe
I climbed into the bath
I am letting it all go

There’s no other way to get it
You can’t let yourself obscure
You’ve got to know you’ve got this
Rather than half sure

I looked at bloodied water
And out loud, I said my name
And then I simply began
Because I will never be the same

You cannot hold back
Give it half of what you’ve got
You’ve got to give it everything
If you want the lot

I just said them all
Every word I’ve ever known
And when I was finally finished
I was finally alone

I rounded them, caressed them
I let those words go free
Sent them out into the world
No longer part of me

Then I closed my lips quite tightly
I let my tongue finally rest
I am wholly ready now
I am at my best

I go back out into the world
Scarred yet fully formed
And I live my life

In silence.

In total silence.

And in my silence,

I will deafen you.

The master word

I am just a word
Yet I hold you in my thrall
A master to your servant
I beck and then you call

You put me in a sentence
Say my name out loud
I call you when I’m lonely
And you bring me the crowd

You describe your mastery
Of language and of speech
But I am the master
It is me that you teach

And on a lazy day
When I am rather bored
I can make you write this
I am the overlord

I am not benevolent
I am not very kind
I take up whatever space I want
Whenever I am in your mind

I want you to forget me
Please don’t remember this
I am the master word
I’ll be back in a bit.

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Luscious words

Backwards on a train
I check my twitter feed again

I close my eyes
and words rush in

I let them cover me, soothe me
Its like a hunger

I want them all
I let them run through my mind

Great big luscious words
I tell myself I should write,

Spectacularly.
I let the lushness of those letters strung together cleanse my spirit

I should write
Prodigiously, a rich and entertaining word

Precociously
Precariously
Perceptibly

Precipitously-as if the cliff is rushing up to meet me

I lean back into the seat

I should shout,

Belligerently
Brightly
Bellicosely

Billiously -although I think that means nausea

I alliterate at all available apertures

If I want I can be

Quaint
Quiet
Quintessential
Queenly
Querulous

I do not accept the rules especially the ones that are

Remote
Repressive
Removed
Repugnant

and I will always be

Wilful
Wild
Weird
Wonderful
Wistful

as I roam, wide and far and free.
I sit back in the seat
and somehow the words change me.

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A poet in the mirror

Today I met a poet
I don’t know her name
I saw her image in the mirror
I am not quite the same

When I read her words
They tore me apart
Thundered down the hallway
Stabbed me through the heart

Do you think its possible
That I might not be here
I dissolve into the wall
I might never reappear

I want to make as if
You can never truly see me
To go into the silence
And not exist completely

Because I have read her words
They echo in my head
I don’t know why she wrote them
They were not words I have said

And yet they came from somewhere
A place that I have been
I deny understanding
They are not words that I mean

Yet still she keeps on reading
At the top of her voice
Shouting ever louder
And I don’t have a choice

Today I met a poet
And I cannot pretend
The words that she shouted
They were mine in the end

Words that count

She counts the letters in the sentence
Nine, ten, 13 equals 32
2 times 16, 4 times 8,
3 times 10 plus two
With the brackets in the right place
 
It gives her time to think of an answer
She doesn’t have
Calms her mind
She doesn’t have-
13, 6 times 2 plus one
With the brackets in the right place
 
What to say- nine
Her mind runs blank
Blank, five
Except for the numbers
There’s nothing
But the words she might say
 
I was ‘in the library’, twelve
I was ‘at the shops’ –ten
‘At the cinema’ –eleven
10 times 2 plus one
With the brackets in the right place
 
There is no escape –fifteen
One of her favourite numbers
Fifteen- seven
Confession –ten
He is standing there frowning
 
Frowning -eight
Of all the days, why today
Her period is late
What should she say
She stares at the ground
The words aren’t there –eighteen
Not as much fun as fifteen
 
What is the difference between 15 and 18
Between six and five,
One three
A moment, a mistake
Somewhere inside a tiny heartbeat
Heartbeat-nine
3 times 3
No brackets this time
 
I’m pregnant she says-eleven!
With the apostrophe
She says it in her head or out loud
She isn’t sure
11 -a prime
His mouth falls open
But nothing comes out
I was at the ‘family planning clinic’- twenty
 
She smiles, goes upstairs
No words come to him
He doesn’t know what to say
Silence.
A countless silence
 
She can’t stay here
Its words that count

 

First draft

You can never go back
And write it again
It never comes out right
Unless its fresh from the pen

You can tweak it, touch it up
But it’s like paint on a wall
The changes that you make
They have to be small

Some days the words
They come out, they just flow
Sometimes they don’t
Its impossible to know

By all means re-read it
Look at what you wrote
But hesitate to change it
Its like patching a coat

You can re-sew the button
You can wash out the stain
But we all know the coat
Is never quite the same

The problem when you write
Is it’s a way of being heard
If you change it too much
Its like your words are being slurred

You need to have some focus
You need to find some peace
Your don’t need to be perfect
You just need to speak

You have written it down
You said what you want to say
Its ok just to leave it
Just to up and walk away.