No queen

Another rejected one. I did something unusual with the formatting, but I can't quite remember what so I've tried to approximate it here:

No
          (Scream it
For all the good it'll do)
A marriage bed, 
               this ain't
All hands, no heart
               no help
He's king
  Again
    Again
      Again
Lie flat, 
            sleep
And let the tears
           come
Secret, beneath your 
           eyelids
Tell no one
They all know 
          anyway
And laugh
         Sneak home
In bloody clothes
Carry
       your new wound
In stricken hands
Count your bruises
      One by one
Try it on for size
Who are you 
      now?
Not his
  Not this
    Nothing, surely


No queen

A history of our ending

I found these floating around in my email from several months ago. I submitted them to an online poetry magazine and didn't get anywhere (a bit of a recurring theme with me) so here they are. I quite like them. It was an experiment in simplicity and I think it came off ok. See what you think:

Knuckles

I miss your knuckles.
That sounds strange,
But I liked the way
They grazed my cheek
So gently, despite the
Roughness of your
Weathered skin.

You seemed so
Hardy, a great oak
Of a man, and I thought
You'd set down roots
In my soil,
Tough and sinewy,
Like your brawny arms.

So I was surprised
When you quietly
Slipped away from me.
It didn't happen all at once,
But gradually, you receded
Until at last
There was nothing left.

I've seen your face
Since then, in dreams
Or trees or clouds, or
Other men, and fancied
You were still with me,
Still loving me the way
You once did.

Afterwards

In the nights that followed
Your departure, I drowned
In cheap booze, in the hope
Of drugging my addled mind.
And in the hazy, hopeless days
I woke up, blinded by the sun and
My own sorrow, unfailingly
Angry with the kids next door
For their youth and carelessness.

Your ghost hung bright and
Luminous on those nights,
An image burned behind
My tired eyes. A phantom,
Your weight was missing, though -
No hand on my stomach, no
Knees tucked behind mine, no
Mouth pressed to my neck.

The worst of it was the silence.
I screamed at the empty space
Where you should have been,
Demanding answers, and when
You failed to appear and tell me
Why, I hated you. I hated you.
I can't forgive you and now, for not
Forgiving you, I can't forgive myself.

Picture

I have a picture of you
Smiling, which you so
Rarely did, in the sun,
Near a lake.
There are trees
And grass and a picnic
Behind you.
You look so happy
And every time I see it
I want to
Hold on to that.
I want to feel
The way we felt then.
I want to smell
The air and the grass
And the strawberries
I imagine you picked.
I imagine the day
We spent there.
I imagine we made love
Under one of those trees.
I want to call to mind
That best of afternoons,
But I can't remember
Where it was taken
And now every time
I see that picture,
It kills me
A little more.

Be radical?

A little post election silliness:

You're so filled with hate

Standing there

Decrying the crying

Shame that is

Our government 

And don't get me wrong

I don't think you're wrong

But how about

A little love?

Now wouldn't that

Be radical?