Her Poetry: Honey

honey

Honey

Honey, down in the depths of the pot

It stops if you reach its core

The glistening dulls to a mucusy blot

That clogs to rot in the back of your throat

It turns to dregs but the barrel is bare –

You licked it clean of its salt.

 

The hand that grabs is met with a snare

But the fingers that linger are forever without

They open and close like the mouth of a fish

Gaping at bubbles of air

You swallow at rocks ’til your body is sick

But you know that the hunger’s still there.

Her Poetry: Sides

sides

 

Sides

 

From the sides to all your stories

I’ve made myself a shape

It grows with every added edge

With holes that start to gape.

 

I stuff the gaps with fairy dust

And line them all with glue

But the sides they keep on coming –

For every one there’s two.

 

I bought a pair of scales

To help me with the load;

Decide the sides that have to stay

And which must surely go.

 

I bought myself a racket

I’ll stand in half a court

To bat the stories back again

And take the score to naught.

 

I’d take the score to love

But it’s gone beyond the point

Now the game is truly over

My shape becomes a coin

 

A coin has just two sides

But there’s a side to every story

So when I leave it up to fate

He’ll bask in all the glory.