Monday, March 8, 2010

P.A. Levy - Two Poems

Waiting Furniture

The shadows of furniture are climbing
the walls, yawning and stretching;
the boredom of it all.
I watch these silhouette-ic children
play their sick games
manifest into assassins
and maneuver behind me
to steal the light from my bones
outgrow this room
turn it into darkness; waiting.

Silence, that’s for someone else
that isn’t me.
I have the sound of hearts dropping
ringing in my ears,
and like the village church bell practice
on Thursday evenings
the resonation of wed-locked words
with shock-me waves
come disguised in marzipan
and night time lace.

So we step into a winter landscape
where truth kills summer; wild flower kisses
now iced over, and it seems so unfair
that lies can live forever.

From the bedroom window I watch you
disappearing into a blue tulle of cigarette smoke
that curls to the stars
and I saw you look back, a short-lived glance,
believing that I’ll still be here; waiting.

Shipwrecked in the Swell of Love

Reach out to me
across the sea
weightless in tranquility
of lulling waves
rippling against us
flowing through our hair.

Reach out to me
across the page
shifting sands
of whispering words
as we hold hands
shored up inside
the castles that we build.

Reach out to me
across the space
fingertip caress
to life raft embrace,
let ebb tide
and magnetic moon
drown in the ocean bed
of me and you.

Born East London but now residing amongst the hedge mumblers of ruralSuffolk, P.A. Levy has been published in many magazines, both on line and in print, from ‘A cappella Zoo’ to ‘Zygote In My Coffee’ and many stations-in-between. He is also a founding member of the Clueless Collective and can be found loitering on page corners and wearing hoodies

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