ajulea

We’d said we would meet at the bench coated with green paint in the park, count new lines on the other’s face with our masks on, six feet apart. I waited in my old red keds, torn blue jeans and a plain white tee. As dusk grew red and sunl…

Shivering sunsets scream, swallowed by the shallows of silent sanguine streams. I hear them at the stairs while counting old brown coins and a few crumpled fares every morbid Monday, watching the sky bleed red, then bruise purple and gray….

Cobwebs, on red curtains drawn on a canvas left alone in a field of weeds and grass at the end of winding paths through a dark place in mind space where the restless shadows pace, they were sticky comfort zones, sundew seats, not velvet thro…

You left like words not yet spoken through grey cracks in whitewashed old walls, like jagged dagger lightning strikes through the silence of a shocked pause as magenta wails of thunder are muffled by dark grey clouds. You left like a walk in…

The stars shine in the same skies but I watch them through windows different from yesterday’s. The shadows which the grilles cast on fresh, newly painted walls remind me of old strange friends and new bright friendly strangers. I left behind f…

‘So you write poetry?’ Isn’t that for posers, floaters, wishful thinkers? Wait, what did you fail at?’   Disappointment tastes like zucchini fries gone cold, no ketchup on the side. It paints the room pastel, creeping up walls like snails…

I was sitting on the staircase to the old setting sun whose patchwork rust and frayed edges asked for a coat of paint. Grey cement steps stared blankly at shallow opaque puddles of almost empty colour cans. I picked up my best brush and use…

As dawn peeks in through the window in mustard light and misty garb, the sleepless night, now old and grey, an ashen shadow on the walls, floats away with the silent breeze. I am a mere spectator now, watching as time withers and wanes….

The autumn breeze caressed my cheeks and whispered, ‘Come away with me through swirling leaves of gold and green, or avenues of tangerine. In morning mist or evening dew, on magic carpet rides for two, like eagles gliding with the clouds,…

I remember you like one remembers old mixed tape tunes, part melody, part lyrics, and part sketch pen cover art. I remember you as a bedtime fable one cannot recollect the morals of, rolling off of an old book with torn, moth-bitten pag…