Some poems wot I wrote

This one is a nod to the past:

'Almost'

If i'm an enigma,
then you're a mystery,
your epic inner-conflict
serving only to baffle me.

Stalked by GPS and
cornered in a clearing,
I am besieged by
your texts, calls
and friendly fire -
so much for my
stealthy orienteering.

When present I detect
'eau de newcomer',
as your skin seeps
nicotine and guilt;
breaking your cover.

As you talk without
saying anything,
you aim to engender
a false hope -
unaware that I am
silently slipping you
much more rope.

You're no mystery
and i'm no enigma,
as I say to you
that there may be
a reason why we
will never be together.

28th December, 2006

This next one could well apply to last Saturday evening:

'A Lover's Plea'

I don't need you,
but I crave you.

Persisting, as only the
dumb and enamoured can,
I orbit your world, looping,
rolling and swooping.

Baffled by your nonchalance
and bruised by turbulence,
I plead for your hand,
only for you to flip your finger
when I attempt to land.

17th December, 2006

This could apply to the long past, recent past, or my new life as a gay dude:

'A Man Who is Whole'

Ambling along
the secluded trail,
you analyse your pain,
seeking to make sense
of why your love
turns to sorrow.

Focusing on the symptoms
of boredom and loneliness
and zeroing-in on
longing, yearning
as the cause,

you misdiagnose
the cancer that is
your insecurity
and isolation -
exploited by
bit-part players
and hustlers.

Loves purpose
is not to fill
that hole -
that's down to
life and Living,
the kind that may
lead to Loving,
and for that,
you will need
a man who is whole.

24th December, 2006

This is for my father x

'A & E'

I return home to find you in pain,
bathing under a waterfall of sweat;
struggling yet dignified, quiet as always.

After yet another of our imperceptible exchanges,
punctuated by a shortness of breath and a glance,
concluded by a slow blink, an ambulance is summoned.

I mop your brow and frantically collect
your cornucopia of pharmaceutical necessities.
Hugging you, rubbing alternately between chest and back,
promising you it will be alright.

We play cat and mouse, as I try to maintain eye contact
and engage you with a reassuring smile; but you look away,
as if ashamed by this temporary indisposition.

The ginger-haired angel arrives, wheeling you away
with your bride of the last forty-five,
leaving me behind to collect myself and reflect awhile.

Silently suffocating at the thought that you
will no longer be there to hold my hand,
I curse my selfishness.

Picking up the telephone to hail my siblings,
I hesitate, as I hope
that a secret shared
will finally bring us closer together.

16th June, 2007