Love Your Bones

In the beat of wings, you visit here
and in sleeping hours
touch my face.

You sing a song – straight into me
vibrating love through bones
that have never known the shake.

Painted on paper, my skin brushes
with yours and locks life
before – out. In a single moment.

Because you are life.

Life that breathes beauty
in the burst of buttercups, building
bones with a music, all of your own.

And I am built stronger on melodies;
branches of verse stretch
through my veins and lift a heart
free of entanglement.

No longer strangled in cement.
Because you gave a gift one day
and decided to love my bones.

Conversations With Claude #4

So come on then.

Sorry?

You said it was time.

Oh yes, right. So let’s start at the beginning.

Great.

The concept of flying is simple:/-

Wait!

Yes?

Why can I hear you?

You have ears, my dear.

No, I mean…why me? Why only me?

I can’t answer that.

You could at least try.

Well…maybe they could hear but don’t.

What?

You could think upon it…as a gift.

The Pigeon Whisperer.  Lucky, lucky me.

So ungrateful:/-

I’d just have preferred x-ray vision or:/-

Really, can you not just be happy with what you have?

I’m ecstatic.

I can see that.  Sarcasm is the lowest form of wit, you know.

Oh, just get on with it.

As you wish!

I wish.

Fine.

Fine.

…

Go on, then!

Yes, yes. Keep your knickers on, I’m building up to it!

Build faster!

Do you understand the concept?

Of what?

Of flying.

No.

Really, what do they teach in schools, these days?

Claude.

Hmm?

Get. On. With. It.

Right. So. Imagine I have a badger on my back.

Are you taking the pi:/-

Stay with me, Dear. Imagine the badger.

Okay…

Could I take flight, with said badger, on my back?

Is this rhetorical?

No.

No?

Right. He would weigh me down, making it impossible for me to soar through the treetops, at one with the:/-

I get it.

Wonderful!

So…what has this got to do with me?

You need to lose your badger.

Excuse me?

Lose the badger.

I haven’t got a fucking badger!

Now, listen here, young lady:/-

Oh, forget it.

Wait!  You need to lose the badger! Baggage! I mean baggage! You need to lose the
baggage that weighs you down!

Why didn’t you just say that!

I like metaphors…

What are you looking at?

Incredible, Claude.

Thank you!

It was definitely not a compliment.

Oh.

So what’s my badger, I mean…baggage?

You need to work that out by yourself.

How?

Think about it.

I’ve got nothing.

You have plenty. A full set, actually.

Of badgers or baggage?

Definitely both.

Oh, can’t you just tell me!

I could…but it doesn’t work like that.

Why not! Be a rebel!

Absolutely not, don’t be absurd. Me a rebel! Honestly,  I can’t believe you just:/-

Alright, alright! Jesus! I’ll do it myself.

That’s the spirit!

Isn’t it. What about a hint?

No.

Okay.

Get rid of the badger.

Yup.

I mean it.

Ahuh.

…

You’ll not even try, will you?

Probably not.

You really are impossible! I don’t know how I got lumbered with this, this really is the last time I ever; Well come on then!

What?

I’ll take you.

Really?

Yes.

Thanks!

You’re getting right under my feathers,  so let’s just get this done. I really haven’t got the patience for:/-

I’m annoying you?

Yes!

I’m annoying you? I’mannoyingyou. I’m. Annoying. YOU!

Oh, wait up; Claude! Slow down, where we going?

Badger culling!

Did you just crack a funny? Claude! Did you just; Wait!  

Oh, be quiet.  And get a wriggle on!

Coming, wait; I’m coming! Ha, Claude! Wait for me!

And I ran behind him, struggling to keep up; ready to take down my badgers…whoever or whatever they might be.

**This is the fourth in a series of ‘Conversations With Claude’ – you can find the previous three on G&T homepage.

Love Letters.

Nobody knows what breath
is breathed
in the quiet of thoughts – whilst
secret smiles are adorned
in the privacy of letters

Eyes that look upon a word
with wonder, flutter with the anticipation of others; a pair that
seem to see everything
but them

Silent kisses wash reality with the
art of calligraphy
curling up and over with the desire
to be more than mere ink

But ink and words and letters
stain paper like the heart; drying
with a resonance that makes
birds sing whilst
Lovers cry love, to love

Foolish lips drink and daydream
whilst hands perfect the
fountain pen, pouring out lust
and adoration
all over the page

in fits of uncertified madness

from nature, itself.

Schiz.

Quick as your cat.

Bam! She’s

A tiger.

With killer moves

and Serengti swipes.

Strike strike strike!

I like to wrestle.

To take her down

drown her power.

The final hour

my finest

I can go all night

Fighting. Clawing. Scratch!

Back to back

symmetrical perfection.

A deadlock of

the mind. No two.

Yes.

Two theatrical minds.

One body.

Only ever one body. Somebody. Anybody.

Nobody.

Oh.

I’m my toughest opponent, yet.

All Hallow’s Eve

Unpregnant souls draw ghosts and ghouls
that young bereaved
and walk with fools whilst spirits, three
take couch. Retire.
Dream hideous fire.
For this is All Hallow’s Eve.

Perpend our quest; our defining hour
by which thou com’st, o’er wroght by power
for we mad dead are free to be
willing knaves of the darkest reign.

And such rapture vile, to the
absolute quaint. My wall-eyed
horrors, fear the pale-faced
brave and to
that end, will not forsake.

Now all is ours and we be Kings.
Heavy are those, that fortune brings
hell upon thy honesty.
So take heed my child, with all thy might.
For coiled are all, this Hallow’s Eve night.

Through The Eyes Of A Gun.

Impulse

desire

one hundred pounds of fire

power

raging

witness fear disengaging

rapidly

cocked

for destruction and locked

vision

entreating

bullets now excreting

cries

ringing

on deaf ears singing

words

pleading

to stop this bleeding

execution

lead

poisons desperate hearts. Dead.

Introducing…

I am the slithers of suggestion, drizzled drip by drip
drenching consciousness with
desire.

I am the fire that ferments deep in the darkest parts
of your person, lighting the fuse.
Stimulating your power.

I am a warrior fighting abstinence.
Poisoning you
with tickling intoxication.

And I am blood.
Swelling the senses
with a delicious, viscous temptation.

The whisper of arousal at your ear,
I am sensuality.
Talking in tongues . Fantasy
infiltrating reality

Provocative.

I am the hunger in your eyes.
The greed.
Your need for satisfaction.

Sexuality.

I am.

Erotica.

**This was written as a voice and to that end, I decided to record it as a spoken piece. Check out my post, Introducing…In Audio, here:
introducing…in audio

Or don’t! I hate to rob a reader of interpretation.

First Kiss

Foolish hearts and hands

heat against the idea unknown.

Silence.

An orchestra of awkwardness plays the prelude

for young lovers

before their time,

though sickly stammers of hearts protrude from

the groin, driving

our scene forward

with eyes.

Bursting fear in the mouth of childhood,

adolescence erupts like

the pimple on the skin.

And whilst clammy confidences

dry to a delicious delicacy

ready for the tasting,

blood boils with blistering

bemusement

that it will at last

be more than a mode of transport.

Excitement

heightened in this new state of rapture.

Encapsulated in this time for

both.

Forever.

Murdering Altruism

Walking the streets of Boston
good will hunting
he begs for a soul to save.

He’s an addict.

Intravenously feeding
off intrinsic
rewards.

In twilight hours
as the glory fades,
his starvation strikes.

The hunger
for self gratification
relieved
via charity balls and dinners.

He smells it whilst straightening
his tie, sniffing out a crisis
like blood desired.

He runs with resolution,
excited by the promise
of his methadrone.

High.  Drunk on
his own selflessness.
He stands in euphoria.

Murdering altruism.

Directional Rewind.

Yes, just around the corner. Come.
I’ll show you.

…I’d love to.

Sure.

Just, taking a walk…why’d you ask?

Bye.

Oh, no problem.

Take the road, erm…
fourth on your left and
you’ll see it about half way.
I think.
Yes.

Where are you going?

I am, believe it or not…just terrible with directions.

Erm….hold on

Ahuh.

Hi –