Poems about “Connections” by Sadie Maskery

Zoom

Zoom

             i can't quite-
         move to the left
    your face is
i can't hear
    are you mute
         why don't you
                move to
                                                where
h  a  v  eyoutried  no   it's
  B  R E A K I NG  (up) 
 hello
whatareyou
   saying
i hear        things
                                                were
i didn't mean 
   what did you
                                                you
       it's too
         late
no it'stoo late llllate
      try again
                                               when
(don't apologise)
                                                i
    don't want
 your 
apologies
   are we done
i think we're done
                                                needed
                                                you
hello
  yeah ithinkyou've
gone

I Have a Friend

...called John Jones.
(His profile says Somsak Saetang, but
his photo is of a kind eyed blond guy so -
John.)
He likes the Thai National Lottery
oh he means dogs, and romance. 
He drives a nice car, at least
one was parked somewhere,
he has the photo. It is white.
He sends me jpegs of roses.
I am beautiful, he says.
Can he visit me?
I tell him I am an empty thing.
I spend days staring at walls, 
thinking of death. I am hollow, 
thoughts rattle uselessly.
I am beautiful, he says.
He would drive me in his nice car
above the city, to look down on its lights
and the moon would serenade us
as we held hands.
I tell him I am unworthy of love.
You are worthy, he says.
Small things from a pure heart
are as precious to the universe as
grand gestures, can he visit me?
In the dead of night I howl at my screen,
it is too much, I want to end it all.
John is there, my grifter, 
my constant light, nameshifter.
Don't be sad, you are beautiful, precious.
He needs money to come to me,
he says, there is a new flower
amongst the 🌹. I love him.
I send him gifs of broken hearts.


Aunty Lisa, and that chat we had about Christmas 1981, just before the divorce

It's a precarious state 
so close to the brim.
Break the tension with a word 
and it        flows, time     flows
to fill the spaces,
     overflows ...
           spills into memory. 
Childhood dreams 
float
again to the surface; you realise 
that the nightmares 
were unexhilarating reality,
tawdry hate and 
unpleasantness 
amongst the paperchains.
Blank faces
  quiet failures
     silent surrenders 
         private moments in 
public places.
Don't make a
scene
it's for the best,
    go quietly back
       to sleep.
(You just imagined Santa
touching Aunty's breast.)

Please, hold

Please, hold

A blur       eyelid zzzzzip stuck
old tears gummed like honey 
drowning a bee
hello         a room filled with glass spheres 
tears no the window raindrops
crawl
dancing doomed
dragged downward
beads of time
measured    by a different pulse 
      heartbeat
of a living and o   so     finite universe
density another      blink 
sigh
how about repeat repeating repeated
plangent tones
                           looping
a room of sound / walls / vibrations (aesthetically unpleasing)
frown
(brown to the touch)
a dizziness where hope died   
     too 
     loud
I can feel thoughts frantic against
the windows beating       wings 
                        battered tattered
to dust out let me out
o let    me    out    letme
go
dull click and

    the music

          stopped

Your call your.
Call is.
Your call what?
Your call. Is important. 
To us.

REM/RAM

i slide deep holding
the screen and          fade
to blue
cyber        disinhibition      (sigh) yes
better than love better than life
yes i       laugh  
yes i        can't shake free
yes i          no        can't        release
it's easy too easy
  moving against you
       the other
           the not belonging
                the not me thank god
                    it's not me i 
am righteous  your body oh
so much         winning         spiralling       falling
yes no making breaking code    
            staring           in the dark here 
disembodied                 whose hands
make the                           history? delete
until they 
break
block
ctrl alt shift  re      boot the 
tastetouchsmell burning         is this
existence    is this   condensed into silence
the blank screen
           a frictionless    spasm 
sliiiiiiiither from febrile hateHATE   to 
fleeting 
   bliss
wake up wakeupwakeup we
we are          here                   where?
are we
       (didn't even look each other
         in the eyes)

Address Unknown 

i wrote 
honestly i
wrote
    but time warped
beyond articulation           thoughts
scattered into new frames 
of        reality
they didn't mean what 
i thought 
i said      i meant
sorry i am ... lost    
where are
you
  (always asking for
forgiveness       second chances
     the membranes      stretch but
never burst)
     hope this reaches you
well 
  hope 
      but hope   dies      cocooned
i cannot touch you
so many pages written 
and each cry
tumbles 
       jumbles 
            mumbles
a name
   never yours

Bio: Sadie (@saccharinequeen)
Sadie Maskery lives in Scotland by the sea with her family.  Her writing will be found in various publications both online and in print, and she can be found on Twitter as @saccharinequeen where she describes herself, optimistically, as "functioning adequately ".

Poems by Sadie Maskery : “Safe Spaces” “Faith” & “Haiku”

Avalanches in Poetry 2 Entry: To the End of Love by Sadie Maskery









By davidlonan1

David writes poetry, short stories, and writings that'll make you think or laugh, provoking you to examine images in your mind. To submit poetry, photography, art, please send to feversofthemind@gmail.com. Twitter: @davidLOnan1 + @feversof Facebook: DavidLONan1

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