It’s been some time since I wrote poetry, busy busy in the content marketing world! Here’s one I wrote tonight whilst sitting on my balcony, it’s called “She Lives” and I hope you enjoy it. She lives in that cool night breeze A minty kiss on your cheek that wakes you gasping A faint scent
Remnants of you is the new poem from Charli Says… Today I tidied you away, filed your love letters under your name Today I tidied you away But tell me what I’m supposed to do with the faded shirt that smells like you Today I found a box for you, a turquoise one with
In the eastern tower, her favourite step by the worn arrow loop Cold sea winds seep into her eyes spilling to a defiant tear on one cheek That weak Autumn sunlight paints a shaft of her pastel hair a fiery ochre Cheek pressed to the chalky stone, there are no shapes to be seen
Your yellow stone with the pointless edges In the waves, in the bay, in the timeless weather Your tourmaline weak with the dying sun In the rocks, in the pools in the starless climbs Desisting weight a shallow bruise In the beige, in the sands, the sponge shoreline Your ripples blended, your flecks worn away
Summer had ended with its cotillion of afternoon pimms and powdered smiles A hanging jury of crows in the apple orchard muttered as the breeze stirred The crisscross wires that slashed the fragile sky buzzed like cicadas And another creak, louder this time, resonated from the orchard Ripples on the wishing pond broke her reflection
In a sticky slow I hit six again again again, the machine cold and unyielding My life mist fevered snow globe memories on the glass Earthly worries rising embers sparking in my veins But there was something else, a whisper She needs to be daring she needs to see The lights went out as
Yours was a one size fits all kind of love My starless black and your cloudy blue Your square in my star shaped void Leaves empty points Yours was a copy paste kind of love Stamped to the tacky canvas of my soul Slipping and sliding on a bloody mess Your vision unwavered Yours was
And then there are the dreams when I become him. The cold creeping sludge seeping up through my soles Filling my legs and I rise flimsy high and hateful Treading unearthly imprints into the faded mossy carpet Up the curved stairs, one, two, three then creak Watching hushed through the rails as the landing clock
Let’s go to our sacred place, over the bridge where the tulips smile Touch the silk and handmade lace and stay awhile Let’s go to the café without a name, under the domes in mosaic shade Drink spiced tea from a tiny glass, and nibble on the candied figs Let’s go sit under trees by
