40.

Photographs strobe beneath lids
echo from one year to the next,
determined flashes
regurgitating phantoms,
specks ingrained
self absorbing,
once alive.

Tenderness
captures the black
and the not so white,
smudging realism
torn by rigid belief.

Voices
of the kaleidoscope collide.

© 2009 Michaela James

Room 119

Ambers light half my night,
spirits lashed consume
Sunday service,
collection tin bankrupt
bar a few pennies, heaven
teasing the misguided notion
of eternity

Gideon sells the lie,
a warrior in God’s name
placed with every sordid interlude
upon the king in room 119,
judged
I grasp the final gasp

Honour quelled with vanity
broken, drowned
as the rolling blanket draws me in,
tears hung by a thread spliced
finely cut, my cross to bear, disdain
tongue draped and dry
upon the desert, each halo alight.

© 2009 Michaela James.

The Traveller.

Aching miles of golden grain whisper:

‘We are your malice
your holy grail
and you will be mine,
eternal’.

The flame of desire quivering
within your palms clutching
the edge of reason,
severed by your homeland,
poorer for all you know is lost

The four winds howling in unison
mock your majestic mind,
call your names, one by one
for here is where you belong
to no-one.

© 2009 Michaela James.

Untitled - Charcoal Sky.

A charcoal sky blackens the horizon
paints anger across it’s paths,
patiently awaits the rumble
three miles south,
flocks flee the funnel
driving oblivion,
caressing with it’s hands
leaving torrential tears
tearing at wanton wounds
howling

‘The end is nigh, bye, bye my love, bye bye.’

© 2009 Michaela James.

Our War.

Sincerity slain upon the last sunrise
captured, images of night
brutalised beyond sanity,
cradled to death
love torn.

Reason smothered by dust’s scent
begging forgiveness,
needling paradise, sobbing
widows entrenched
despair.

Slivers of cold slice the blood
congealed, madness
holding tight, petrified
the silent scream carved
in stone.

Heavy hearts hang from decades
decayed, splintered tears
seared, the moonlit shame
torched at dawn, this is
our war.

© 2009 Michaela James.

The Wake.

Washed upon isolation’s ride,
smile crippled by fate’s
entourage, wistful clouds
pass the mind’s eye
watering stale ale

Sorrows drowned, appetites
consumed as melodies
crack the silence, beat
the heart into submission,
deceive the snapshot

Sixty-nine years
thrown by the wayside.

© 2009 Michaela James.

The Will.

My favourite shirt that holds secrets

I’ve yet to share,

the white one, embroidered lace

you cherish,

one thousand and fifty six records

not played since '99,

books owned a lifetime more

collecting dust

and spider’s webs

Yours to keep.

My written words of capitulation

hidden, my image true,

the sudden depths of loneliness

you will search,

music of my mind disguised

free form,

your tears tattooed, her face

freezing in time

lullabies confide

Mine to keep.

My silent rage of yesterday

withdraws to slumber.

© 2009 Michaela James.

The Grasp.

The flicker of the television
siphons the subconscious
weary of tomorrows viewing,
the flower wilts with irony
embossed on my fingers
control, out of reach
inhibitions inhibited,
outside a tapping at my door
an intrusion of humankind.

The gas man needs to screw
me for the bonus of a life
time bought and sold
down the gutter of convenience,
construed from paper talk
tattered and torn, the grasp
lost, inside are my waking hours
vanquished from a loved heart
bereft of compassion, empathy gone.

© 2009 Michaela James.

Exorcised

My chalice trembles at night
As the chink of ice resonates
Around my arid mind
Immersed in babble

Conflict of being
Surrounded by the chimes,
wretched words wake me
from my stumble, my Lord

Reds invade the blue hues
Acid rain cleanses
Partisan warriors
The suits and all who dine

Unrepentant, reaping
Revenge, the hand of God
Echoes of Ezekiel.

© 2009 Michaela James.

Gone.

The devil stared from the sky
Our reflection splayed
Across the oceans,
Laughter strangled
By sorrow’s persistence

The final tick upon us
With the tock long gone.

Mercy held at arms length
For no-one could beggar belief
We were one with insanity,
Smiles felled
By tomorrow’s regret

The silos driven by hate
Silent. Gone.

© 2009 Michaela James.

Long Dead.

Long Dead.

Estranged obsessions collect
Possessions diluted with every breath,
Time eludes insanity
Begging relief,
Wretched nuances accept the end
For what she says
Is God, good yet long dead.

© 2009 Michaela James.

Curtain Call.

I step outside

Sunshine blazes over the bar
raised on a cold winter’s afternoon,
she mocks with the left while the right
teases with the warmth of a boxer
entrenched, tides roll, seize the moment
beneath the willow crying on each corner,
sign of the times as snow falls in spring
wets the appetite of sinners distilled with pain,
delirious at the second coming of an end.

Lighting a cigarette
I watch the lights go out one by one.

The curtain falls, I pray.

© 2009 Michaela James.

Skin Storm.

Beauty only plays at night
when lights are dimmed,
perpetuated by lover’s blindfolds
longed for in dreams
rapid eye movement stifled

Lines carved from age
crease the tear’s reservoirs,
clotted nails strewn across flesh
aching for touch to embrace
pity born of the reflection

Virus like it crawls beneath
scurries from left to right,
wields ten knives reaping
the reward, layers of meat
the pleasure endorsed by pain

The sheets are a murder scene
rippled in rustic red,
encrusted to the torso,
limbs like layer cake sliced
freshly fried upon puss pots

With dawn braking I lie tight
motionless and tired,
solitary droplets sit fully formed
atop my bloodied craters
eager for the night.

© 2009 Michaela James.

Marooned.

Eons apart, fabled fates collide
within the cesspool of my mind,
digits flit across the eye line
of night, etch our descent,
decipher the meaning of life.

Tall tales torment every child
caress the tears of dreams torn,
the innocent glance holds
my heart, burdened with fear,
motionless, without answers.

© 2009 Michaela James.

Whispers.

Demented fog fills the void
your innocent mind,
bequeathed to me
the day you dined,
your glass skin petrified
eyes fixated divine.

The crack of bone
spliced in honour, for love,
my right hand
cradling her throat
the left drove home
hate instilled
from the age of nine.

Dripping from the casket
of our belligerent mother,
her prayer
forgiveness blind,
her frail limbs slumped
eyes shut tight.

I smiled at my design.

© 2009 Michaela James.

Lost.

Words wander the mind’s wasteland
congregate by the wayside,
peer through windows
at each and every one of us.

Meaning ebbs from blinded eyes
deafening silence echoes off the page,
aching for the quill to scratch it’s itch
pleading for the ink to flow.

Hear the melody hurt with beauty
black and ivory entwined,
the encore of what once was
and here she lies, fading embers.

Severance upon the lips of passer-by’s,
no click, click, click of keys
tapping out the ultimate demise
as sadness haunts the betrayed.

Steeples fall without grace or virtue
cobwebs weep with the touch of rain,
the wind ceases to howl
leaving nothing but an empty landscape

Lost.

© 2009 Michaela James.

On Ice.

I watch the glass ease
so easily half empty
a picturesque delusion
of happiness, mocking
as the second hand floats
slowly by stuttering at twelve,
my shutters blurring

the consequence of who I am

the solitary figure fatigued,
every word dispensed
twenty yarns ago unheard

tears dissipate
desert my sodden sleeve

run faster than every human
being I have touched

my awkwardness laid lame
beneath the star I long for

the temptation of the gutter
embraced childlike
I dance the forbidden route,
walking the lush green mile
hand in hand with you
my eager saviour, servant
to the night we will always be.

© 2009 Michaela James.