Shattered

He stands, stretching upwards,
silent as the emerald eyed,
coal dusted cat, laid out
beneath the hanging brasses.
Unaware of the universe,
of the shimmering reflections
bouncing back.
Shining shards float free,
bound merely by memories,
each face, each fragrance,
each fall from favour.
His personal horcruxes,
his burden to bear home.
She lingers a while, watching
rainbows ride the ceiling,
scores of sunlit days long gone,
ghosts of tender touching moments.
She knows him, yet she knows nothing.

© Copyright 2013 Abigail Baker

 

 

Palliative

They say we will have good
days and bad days.

They claim palliative love is worthy,
and nothing to be feared.

They recommend radiotherapy,
to help keep the lights burning bright.

They promised that chemical injections
would crack the problem, deep inside.

They lied, as energy drained away
and spent more encouraging the growth.

They missed the whole point,
on which your fate was finely balanced.

They tell us everything can be fixed,
one day, after we have slipped away.

They cannot not stop us holding on,
to the last sunrise we share together.

They will only accept your mortality
the moment, your sun is snuffed out.

 

© Copyright 2013 Abigail Baker

 

 

Baring fruit

The bat black fruit hang out
Inverted in the corvid tree.
Bony bare branches hold
a suspicious air of intelligence.
Curious eyes are watching, waiting
for the stumbling man to fall.
It is of no surprise they eat
the critical watching eyes.

 

© Copyright 2014 Abigail Baker

 

 

 

Apple trees

The orchard is quiet
in the early morning light.
Shadow hands pick the day’s windfalls,
a yawning breeze chimes tubular coated cobwebs
making the furry fat inhabitants
shiver and stir turn in dream flight.
Blue green leaves nestle together
a duvet around their rosy children.

Yesterday it rained.
The ground giving up its goodness
they all drank thirstily,
like a herd of just milked dairy girls.
Today their precious charges swell
colouring with blushes of excitement.
Each anticipating the coming fall,
holding tight to the gnarled mother branches.

© Copyright 2013 Abigail Baker

Nutritional content

Write about what you know (they say)

Read everything you can (really)
Nutritional content on the cornflake packet
Wondering if I will ever get it.

Not the white picket fence (metaphor)
for foolish assumptions of a youthful
mind in overdrive to nowhere, joyriding.

Who designed the streams?
Meandering through our primary landscape
Collecting up the bright, light, high functioning
to glide, ride without the need to hide
Letting the slower, dreamy, underdeveloped sink
softly downwards towards the special silt.
Foundation papers, vocational values
‘anything above a U counts’
But what about YOU.

Sometimes one gets the chance to climb
A mountaineering feat up sheer faces of
indifference
or those that choose to let go
bumped along the bottom
in the flow, until maybe
one door left ajar, is flung open
and we stand in awe!
Still dripping insecurity, disbelief
that this is really happening
‘Pinch me please, I must be dreaming’

Zero degrees outside the bachelor’s club
The only doctors are wearing stethoscopes
Or busy flying time curves in the tardis.

But to be the first woman (small world)
In over a century of testosterone
Brings a smile all of its own

Write about what you know (I did)

Into the Blue

Skies meet the oceanic
deep sea diving down,
feeling your cold touch
depression caused by
fingertip pressure spots.
Veins run royally collect
in flowering forget me nots,
cool creased denim worn
out of collar coded clichés.
Ribbons and rosettes fail us
declare a winner right or left
conservative, republic, rebuke
liberal spreading of liberties.
School uniforms conform
to navy coloured rules,
and the virgin mother mary
with her body covered up.
Birds are singing fairytales
in powder and pastel shades
nursery rhymes and painted
stereotypes on young minds.