I heard him arrive with a hammer.
It wasn’t the sound that a woodpecker makes.
It wasn’t a bang on the door,
or a well-ordered pattern of beats.
It was a hammer,
hurled through the air at my head.
All the cups on the table were smashed.
I knew it was risky to move.
I dreamed myself up in the blue
and saw myself as a seagulls wing
soaring above it all.
Seagulls remind me of ballet.
Ballerinas have silk pointed slippers.
Thinking of them, my head starts to swim.
I awake to the jaws of a shark.
The table is overturned.
It’s time to exit the dark.
violence
Hot As Hell
there she stands
at the bar
over-exposed
painted face
no bra
blanked out
sensitive skin
one thought
‘is this all you are?’
stares at her hands
painted nails
tiny scar
above the wrist
heart screaming
NO!
locked in a box
she straightens her spine
fingers the key
holds up her head
shakes her hair free
chooses living
not dead
political husband
stands at her side
all he ever does is hide
hides who he is
hides what he does
smiles with false eyes
justifies violence
disguising soured love
taking the soap box
he holds forth again
demonstrating
obscuring the view
playing the hero
explaining his views
defending her rights
for all to hear
back home
he’s the terror of her nights
now he’s wolfing his whiskey back
necking his beer
later he’ll drag her round
by her hair
but she stands firm
this side of despair
with time on her side
she’s looking at him
a slight smile curving her upper lip
hypocrite
stupid shit
little boy
he thinks she’s his toy
to parade on his arm
to other men
again and again
and again and again
she mistook his weakness
for some sort of sweetness
but she sees through him now
right down to the core
she knows that he likes her
to dress like a whore
tonight he will try
to break her down
she’ll spit in his face
it’s war, all out war
love displaced
she walks out the door
leaves it swinging
a wave of farewell
cold as ice
hot as hell
on her way
to a far better life
he weeps with self-pity
his last strong-hold
she takes no prisoners
she belongs to the world of the brave and the bold
yes
his loss
Noisy Neighbours
Noisy Neighbours
At least three times a week
Thumps, bangs, a loud crash,
Doors slamming, metallic echoes,
Bumps, thuds, sharp edges, smash
I hear shouting, muffled, no words,
His voice booms and beats against the walls.
Hushed stillness after, as i wait to hear him slam out
Clattering feet on the stair to the street
Airless, exhausted relief as they fade.
Everything echoes in empty impersonal corridors
Magnolia walls, polished floors, plain blank doors.
The room behind one containing locked fear and silence.
I sense it there
Hear it breath through the walls
It enters my room, far more than the noise
A pounding, held in fear
So loud that it keeps me awake
As I listen, long after.
Next morning, so aware of silence,
When I hear a sound near my door
I jump, as alert as a hunted animal.
I hear her heart clench
So linked to this stranger by sounds
Though I have never imagined her face
The Dreaming Path 