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

Introspect

Would I be terribly out of line if I said
I miss you?
It's only been three days.
I know we have talked every day,
But there is a you-shaped hole in my world
That aches as though it were forged in fire.

I am sorry.
Through ignorance of the law I committed the crime
Of seeing a man for who he is, not who he might someday become;
Of seeing a man for who he could be, and not merely as he stands;
Of falling in love with both.

I placed no conditions upon my heart when I plucked it from my breast,
Gently brushed away the frost of the years,
And laid it in the sun to warm
Someplace where you might find it,
And hopefully
Pick it up.
There were no hidden wires or traps to snare you.

I wonder whose Medusa heart you once grasped and held?
That lured you with promises of beauty
Then erupted into serpents that sank their fangs deep,
Spreading their venom so far beneath your skin
That when you came across my own, awaiting you so invitingly,
You instinctively recoiled, then ran
As if the Wild Hunt were baying at your heels. 

©mjc 26 September 2017

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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.