wayne simon
less-born, or drunker than you
i was born in the year of the broken joints
ma stewed roots and offal,
we spat promises and cried over spilt pennies
on the third of each month,
we offered flowers and roast meat to the lord
who smiled and nodded gratefully
he was a loving god then
on the rocks,
i am twisted slices of skin,
the slightest bite of nutmeg,
andrew void is giving me
the creeps
any other day, i would be far away
from these far-removed tracks
today, though,
the rain crackles like trembling aspen,
split and splintered into lit pieces,
and i am 40% 90 proof
and i think of daisy
i didn't want to die then
and she had hair curled
off at the shoulders and grey
sweaters and a lopsided smile
she would
say thank you
with the tightest hug
any other day, these would be
stories of an old friend.
little notes
saturdays taste
of sleep and gridlock
in new cafes.
mondays are bleary-eyed
and hard to the touch,
ever-waiting.
tuesdays,
and fridays through,
are push-and-shove
hospice and cribs.
and on the day of the lord, we
make lists for the rest.
We Slept Together Like Stars
Three kids, you said.
Two boys and one girl
or any permutation,
you weren't fussy.
We named them as they came
the names, not the owners,
we said moving would be good
for us.
We could build a house,
a home, three kids,
I stand still under the tree but there is no solitude in the city, only laughter and shadows, laughter and people of the city.
Wayne Simon is the founder of the Malaysian Poetry Writing Month (MaPoWriMo) which runs through the month of May each year. He generally spends the rest of the year telling people about it, and occasionally writes at heartsofwax.wordpress.com.
i was born in the year of the broken joints
ma stewed roots and offal,
we spat promises and cried over spilt pennies
on the third of each month,
we offered flowers and roast meat to the lord
who smiled and nodded gratefully
he was a loving god then
on the rocks,
i am twisted slices of skin,
the slightest bite of nutmeg,
andrew void is giving me
the creeps
any other day, i would be far away
from these far-removed tracks
today, though,
the rain crackles like trembling aspen,
split and splintered into lit pieces,
and i am 40% 90 proof
and i think of daisy
i didn't want to die then
and she had hair curled
off at the shoulders and grey
sweaters and a lopsided smile
she would
say thank you
with the tightest hug
any other day, these would be
stories of an old friend.
little notes
saturdays taste
of sleep and gridlock
in new cafes.
mondays are bleary-eyed
and hard to the touch,
ever-waiting.
tuesdays,
and fridays through,
are push-and-shove
hospice and cribs.
and on the day of the lord, we
make lists for the rest.
We Slept Together Like Stars
Three kids, you said.
Two boys and one girl
or any permutation,
you weren't fussy.
We named them as they came
the names, not the owners,
we said moving would be good
for us.
We could build a house,
a home, three kids,
I stand still under the tree but there is no solitude in the city, only laughter and shadows, laughter and people of the city.
Wayne Simon is the founder of the Malaysian Poetry Writing Month (MaPoWriMo) which runs through the month of May each year. He generally spends the rest of the year telling people about it, and occasionally writes at heartsofwax.wordpress.com.