Recollection (Prelude)

I’ve known guilt and then I’ve KNOWN guilt
But I couldn’t even begin to put the term into human tongue
When you tap my back, in the middle of 90’s britpop chants
And you greet me holding a gargantuan tome
Containing your photographic memory
Try as you might to rekindle a recollection within me
As you recall the times we strolled down your road arm in arm
I hate to break your heart twice over but it only brings static

I couldn’t say I have the foggiest
I don’t remember being enamoured with your frame before
Walking down abandoned docks, eating white chocolate magnums
Was that with you? With the blue bow and dolly shoes?
I can’t think of a face nor a name
Did we kiss by Dr.Chippys? Did we make love after the fireworks show?
Did you ever lie to me that Ollie Sykes could sing, by the river?
My pockets are overflowing with snapshots, but nothing to connect them

I’ll just have to take your word for it
Guide me with your palms and make me recall

*Written For National Poetry Month – 11/30*

Can A Life Be Well Lived?

Deep within the recesses of tonight’s summer dream I say
“Don’t looks some glum honey it’s better this way”
As you clutch your cyan tinted suitcase
While boarding the 7:12 to London Liverpool Street
My absence in your life in but a small price to pay
To ensure you can touch the stars you lust for at night

Yet in reality: I see girls discarding away dreams and ideas
Like a pile of first drafts overflowing from a bin
All because of that funny look their boy gives them
When they dare try to make a move in his presence
That may kick him of the top dollar spot on the throne
To die so submissively it breaks my heart

And yet even in a world where I can have anything
I’ll still let you go to makes sure you can have everything

And yet when I awake at the rise of tomorrows sun
I’ll be having breakfast alone again

I don’t think a life can be well lived
At least unless lived on your own

*Written For National Poetry Month – 10/30*

The New Life

To throw away old childhood heirlooms
Those cob webbed covered conduits of nostalgia
Into the incinerator never to act as the gateway again

That’s exactly what your demanding
When you hold out your hand by the garden entrance
To pull me away from another month spent reminiscing

But what of all the loose ends?
The stories left unfinished like a figurine catalogue
My fair murderer she’ll be left wandering in the crib

Oh what concern is it of yours?
If they want to pacify themselves on old dish water
In the face of the new life

I’ve grown soft from the old life
Where once stood armour lies a one street to my heart
That’s before I consider all the new information fed to me

Different names to scream
During the tail end of the journey to the north street light
And to express gratitude to midst a flood of impulses

Different wounds to lick
When the horns sound from the capital signifying their boredom
It’s reached it’s peak before I could even get used to their pillows

Oh what concern is it of yours?
If they want to pacify themselves on week old cherryade
In the wake of the new life

*Written For National Poetry Month – 9/30*

Read the epilogue to this poem here:
http://thetartanprelude.tumblr.com/post/84360470482/the-new-life-epilogue