the heart laid bare

Archive

the curse
Under seige
Beyond the blues
Introspect
Balloon
push
a strange distance
SWIMMING ALWAYS DOWNWARD
A ONCE-FAMILIAR LANDSCAPE
No Apology
the thunder
tinder
VERBAL PORTRAIT OF A CAT OWNER
critical shortage
the sky we thought we knew
CIRCA SOLEM
almanac
baby
dearest orlando
FIVE MONTHS
A LETTER TO THE UNDESERVING
cactus heart
would we
the fall of giants
paradise lost
Dad
after you've gone
time
a smile from the eyes
trepidation
why so cold
fix this
swallow me
untitled 8
insular
cry alone
robin
quicksand
laces
D.I.S.C.
stripped
waving goodbye
your open eyes
enemy within
mortal
untitled 4
sleepless
OUTSIDER
untitled 9
come dream with me
in the face of adversity
one word
the dark of the night
untouchable
one and one makes two
you burn me
see me
this shaken core
my lover
helen
my room
his words
foolish
rita
chalk drawings
the longest night
stupid skeleton
CLOTHES MAKETH
FIRST LASTS
STELLAR
TODAY
I WATCHED A MAN DIE TODAY
THREE WEEKS
this slippery slope
untitled 5
Arrows
First Kiss
The Talk Of Love
Nicotine
Blackout

my room

There was a place once,
Something I built for you alone,
Clean and unspoilt.
And you walked up and found the door open to you,
A door that others had passed by
Seeing only blank walls.
 
Inside you sat on your plush comfy couch,
Enjoying the things I had placed there for you,
The things I knew would bring a smile to your lips
And your lips to mine.
 
We stayed for a while, nestled into each other during the times when the world outside rocked and trembled,
We knew it was safe.
 
Then one day
You threw down your things and left a mark on the wall,
Stained the carpets with your filthy boots,
Lit a cigarette, blew smoke into the air and ashed in the corners,
Split your drinks upon the upholstery,
And left without paying the tab.
 
You didn’t even have the decency to call the cleaners before you ran away.
 
And so I was left
With a room I’m unable to rent.
And I couldn’t even let you back in,
Because when you left
You slammed the door so hard the hinges bent.
 

© mjc 12 May 2009

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Biography

Daughter, sister, aunt, godmother, friend, public servant; self-confessed hermit, confirmed cat person, sporadic baker, irreformable yarncrafter, voracious reader; occasional wit, voluble shower vocalist, frequent sacrifice on the altar of brain-to-mouth filter fails, unrepentant purveyor of puns and dad jokes, writer and poet.

I have always lived by the theory that no matter what you do for a living - if you are compelled to write, if you wake up in the night to scrawl the contents of your dreams on a notebook beside the bed, if no event in your life seems complete without you recording it, if you are drawn to comment upon the world - then you are a writer.

These are my words.