flame under
black kettle
waiting for you
to come through
the door
the sound
of water
about to boil
your scent
permeates
the apartment
the water
whistles
everywhere
reminders
of you
this
is what I
came here for
(D. James)
flame under
black kettle
waiting for you
to come through
the door
the sound
of water
about to boil
your scent
permeates
the apartment
the water
whistles
everywhere
reminders
of you
this
is what I
came here for
(D. James)
all we have
are words
and I can’t find
any that fit
or don’t sound
self-serving
what’s left
is silence
maddening
deafening
unbearable
silence
(D. James)
The rain falls
like anger
fierce thunder
barks
the air
thick and wet
Black streets
reflect lamplight
hard sound
of water falling
from a long way up
Tortured soul
of weather
wrestling
with the city
tonight
as if the sky
hurt and afraid
needs to be heard
wants its wrath
to be known
exerting some
momentary sense of control
only to lose
against the granite
and steel
blacktop and brick
The hard city
that falters in flood
but never ever
gives in
never loses
the war
(D. James)
exhausted
by talk
empty words
without action
said again
and again
until there is
nothing
but sound
like shadows
in fog
smoke and mirrors
leaving us
nowhere
with nothing
(D. James)
Searching for things
I cannot find
for what
does not exist
All chatter
and clutter
with no way
to turn down
the sound
or change
the channel
(D. James)
They talk
and talk
then talk
some more
Saying the most
benign things
about the weather
or what someone else
has already said
I look for silence
But still they talk
and talk
without really saying
anything
In the end
I wonder …
do these words
really get us anywhere?
(D. James)