How may I speak of you?
With words removed from cliché.
Into my breath you pass through,
breathing words of virgin amouré.
Distant you’re a glow in a sombre air,
your clarity breaking night.
I approach to see what’s there,
and my soul flutters to flight.
The sun shifts it’s glow,
it’s shine a moody amber,
casting shadows under the awning.
The air grows cold and clear
while we exclaim novel raison d’êtres,
new perspectives,
planning passionately dreams of a life possible,
our minds filled with ill informed hope.
Through the narrow streets of the gentrified east.
I roam the roads of Shoreditch, its cleanse in final revolution.
…Yet I admire the birds flying whimsically,
their spirit free from the start
As I
stay
weighted down,
by my
cast iron
heart.
One day you’ll love me when my name is known,
but for now you’ll see my soul emptied in my phone.
Asleep on the tube or awake at night in bed,
my thoughts pour fleeing from my chest to my head.
My heart purges thick oil from my core -it’s a start,
I pine for irreality and for the darkness’ depart.
I sign away joyous secrets and lamentful decisions,
avoiding your judgment to make an incision.
To your eyes open I’m paused -pregnant in wait,
for you to render me love’s stark fate.
With my name atop poems you’ll see and you’ll know,
to love me cause I’m playing on the radio.
I’ve signed faux-names to truths in futile admission,
for one day you’ll know me and release me from my prison.
My words are shouted at midnight,
love and anger laboured
on unseen paper.
I die
my face unknown to light’s eye.
For whom do I aspire
to see my words?
to rescue eyes and ink cast earthward?
to validate muted loves?
to love
me?
Jostled by the rhythmic rock of the 7:44,
through swaying others, you
a jasmine flower.
Our eyes never met
our time dispersed either side of the carriages end.
-The closest we’ll ever be.
Our union was without words, embrace
nor an emotional wink requited.
I know nothing of you, but
your radiant presence
illuminating my overcast morn,
All before you,
devoid of beauty’s vivid colour.
I starved for a glance unreturned;
your eyes through the window
adrift with the birds.
Our motion breaks
and now we all change,
all change;
arrived at London Bridge
our encounter unrealised.
With idealism we aspire
for lives different;
ballot papers blotted
with our hopeful future.
We vote,
each laying claim
to the outcome of our futures,
All professing the right route,
with other’s outdated and passé
We shuffle in booths.
We post our desires.
Handing over wishlists
to be seen and discounted.
We attend the sparse
drips of news,
to see if our faith was well placed.
our aspirations dormant
awaiting fruition.
With a shuffle of feet and cabinet,
we see defeat.
With hopes unheard,
pausing dreams of
an ulterior status quo.
J.C. FitzDerick 