As the evening stretches beyond skyscrapers
sunset cracks windows and voices,
midnight lies as a would-be lover
counting her footsteps across Brooklyn Bridge
to an anonymous apartment, where she imagines
waking to her lipstick on his coffee cup
Washing machine skies spin skeins of colour
red always bleeds into the blue and JFK runway
is nothing more than shingle upon shore,
spent shots across grassy knolls
Spaces on my Christmas card mantlepiece
make me feel like a criminal awaiting arrest,
fingers falling into prayers
as kite strings attached to the electric chair
Dress of sparrows
migrate between thighs,
would nest hinges open wider
if I shared confessions
told to the barman priest
behind his vodka pulpit?
The sea reaches for the moon bleached land
flinging pebbles as broken violin strings
into orchestra of every Christmas eve song never written
and yet more, always more,
whore to my adolescent failings on the Xmas disco floor
Abba or Wham, I just never knew
Forget lung cancer
last cigarette I will ever smoke
will be the ashtray between hope and regret
and the box is running short of matches
As the evening stretches beyond skyscrapers
kindness stitches wounds beyond poetry,
I can hear distant thrum of yellow taxi ferries
and the metronome of hearts pulsing
did I taste your heart licking quickly?
Nothing rhymed, alone in a party of fifty five
syllables are mere cemetery word wreaths
all I can see is the road to the sea
And in the metronome of hearts pulsing
pushing the sky away into boulevard bouquets
ripping December’s flowers from the ground
can you hear me?
Jigsaw puzzle of my rubik’s heart?
Dear R,
The visual and imagined images are outstanding in this piece. For me, there such a sense of coping with life especially at Christmas. You incorporate iconic structures of NY throughout giving this an energetic current running underneath the words from start to finish. I really enjoyed seeing the people, appreciating the buildings and mostly the confessional admission within the piece. Fab write. H🌷
As someone once sang, it’s been a good year for the roses. Heart upon heart, life below humility, Christmas 2025 once seemed a distance away. It was only true friendship & family who drove my sleigh. Maybe, one day, I will become a poem. Huge Welsh hugs and thanks H. x
The opening catching one’s imagination as you tell us a story through poetry. I enjoyed this.
Thank you Fia and many plaudits for your perennial encouragement of writers. Wising you a blessed yuletide.
Well now, this is quite a large gift for us readers. Definitely weighty but not overdone. It brings so much to light, as you build the “Blade Runner” scenery throughout.
really good stuff, Rob. A hell of an offering for the holidays.
Never considered the blade runner angle and this is why I always hope to submit on poetry sites. Everyone reads their own perspective. Thank you Mark.
The original Blade Runner is a fantastic, epic movie. Your write belongs with it, including in value.