the heart laid bare

Archive

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

would we

I would like to take you to a place where there are no people.
Where we could sit on the banks of a river in amidst the green,
And watch unconcerned fish flick their bubbles toward the surface,
And birds would take no notice of us.
We would hold hands where there was silence,
Where you could feel the water as a mist and a deluge,
Where you could breathe out fully
In a moment of stillness.

You would lead me to water through fire,
I would bring you safe havens in untamed jungles.
You will wake in the morning warm from my body,
And find on your hands
The names of the places I wanted to share with you
Written there while you slept.

We would walk together through cobbled streets,
Watching young ladies,
And feeling the weight of history held in old stones.
You would bring me coffee in the morning
And teach me the language of your ancestors,
And we would search for ourselves in cities where we cannot read the streetsigns.
I would leave flowers on your pillow for you to find,
And love you with my lips
In an orange grove under the autumn sky.

We would be savage with each other
In the lands where man was born,
Under the scorch of the sun
That strips away all our pretences
And leaves us raw with one another.
I would be your huntress and your prey
And the sound of drums in your ears.
You a caged beast searching for your wilderness
And I, your release.


© mjc 30 November 2015

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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, random shit-slinger, 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.