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

tinder

You slide smoothly between red-painted lips
With unfamiliar hands upon your thighs that slightly shake as you delve into the unknown.
A twitch and a gasp in a darkened room,
And a silent search for keys
By the moonlight leaking in through someone else’s window.
 
We are so cautious, so careful
Playing minesweeper with every step.
Hold your cards close to your chest and for god’s sake don’t let them see if you have any hearts.
You’re judging resumes based upon the appeal of the stamp on the envelope.
And you grasp at these tiny sparks that could become flames,
But you’re too eager and you’re afraid
And you smother them with the sweat of your body.
You bare your skin to a stranger without a second thought,
Even as you wrap your heart in snow clothes and Kevlar.
 
This jungle of flesh is so tempting,
But you’ve stayed too long
And you’ve strayed from your path.
Every berry you have sampled from every bush you have passed
Has slowly poisoned you.
You don’t even realise you’ve been dying by inches for years.
 
And as your fists sprout little tufts of dark hair that flow like blood toward your wrists,
You sigh and slide smoothly between red-painted lips
Before you even think to ask her name.
 

© mjc 10 February 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.