Dancing on the Frozen Stars
She
searched behind the spinning starlight
looking
for her lost love
she
prayed under the apple trees
they
remembered the silence after she vanished
and
crawled around the overgrown maze
that
was sinking into the mud and grime
their
frenzied panic searched the undergrowth
like
madmen chasing the end of time
They
hunted for her footsteps
Found
the satin from her torn skirt
I
crept away when I saw her settled
laying
in her lover’s arms
she
turned away from the frenzied rescuers
after
turning them into giant frogs
with
the powers that the fairy gave her
while
they danced on the frozen stars
she
touched her lover with her feathery veil
draped
it over his back and arse
his
shoulders snuggled into her satin
which
lay beneath his growing pain
that
caused his back to arch and fall
to
the rhythm of a long gone song
that
called her towards his hope his heart
and
the ecstasy when he entered her
like
the full moon rising toward a perfect sky
The
Loneliness Factory
The
night was dull dark gloomy. She sat alone in her room scratching at her neck.
The more blood under her fingernails, the more translucent she felt. She
worried about nothing. Everything. She lay perfectly still searching her mind
for what went wrong. Searching her mind. Looking at her flaws, her failures,
her regrets, the lonely piano, her violin, her music stand where the Chagall
print rested against her manuscript. She looked around her almost empty sterile
room feeling sick not knowing what to do next. Wondering where he was.
Wondering if he would come back, knowing he would not. The room was filled with
horrors old memories lost moments forgotten treasures and broken glass. She was
alone cold empty silent. There were no calls no messages not a sound in the
room except for her pounding thoughts and an erratic frightened heartbeat.
She
left the door ajar
Just
in case he might turn up
after
his rehearsal after the delayed flight
after
the bullshit excuses
she
left the door open that night
and
the nights before
the
snow watched her voyeuristically
through
the open window
one
eyebrow raised as if to suggest some insight
the
driving sleet that rested across her body
burnt
into her
provided
the warmth
and
the soundscape to
her
endless sleepless reveries
the
empty gin bottles rolled around
like
lovers bumping into each other
and
not by chance
the
traffic in the distance offered no hope
of
his imminent arrival
she
lay on the floor petrified
with
cold
with
fear
her
tiny body grappled with her existence
it
was no longer strong taut but soft malleable
vulnerable
usable
she
saw a beautiful solemnity encased
in
her desperate scene
of
futility harm loneliness
she
calmly quietly smiled and accepted her fate
The
Dancer
There
was a strange lingering in her gait
A
lingering longing to revisit a scene
a
pulse beating out of time
a
violin breaking string after string
the
piano preferring the pentatonic
the
singer sobbing in the opera stalls
The
dancer puts her hands on her hips
then
raises her arms to begin the show
signals
the orchestra with the wink of an eye
spreads
her tutu adjusts her hair
spins
around the auditorium
knocking
over phials filled with lilies
refreshes
the bright red of her lips
her
pulse stirring excited for the thrill
she
smiles a deadly recalcitrant smirk
takes
hold of the jester’s trusty baton
strips
down to her bare bones
hoping
to excite the exuberant crowd
before
the anniversary party begins
Three
Ways
Three
women emerge from a sleepy night
drowning
in the cobwebs of leftover dreams
caffeine
soon to be shared from a bowl
sugary
treats pastries being the sole
reason
to stretch their bodies in morning ritual
breaking
free of constraint with unseemly acts
they
walk to the river wrapped in chiffon and lace
no
longer avoiding the whispering eyes
they
drift in and out of feathery leaves
falling
slowly from autumnal trees
the
wanton river peaks in early morn
they
drown their faces in its liquid silk
feel
the force between their legs
the
perfect three way
body
mind
poetry
Train
Tracks Wisdom and Bullshit
There
was a line we crossed over that night
we
should’ve regretted it but we didn’t
we
wore the changes to our lives
lay
in the pouring rain again
enjoyed
the stench of muddy soil
the
wisdom came much later
took
away our power to reason
to
fly kites on windy nights
to
venture into the thorny bush
sliding
recklessly through the mire
bullshit
paved the way for us
we
travelled in hot air balloons
sang
songs in Irish pubs
snuggled
the hangover
beneath
the sheets
Jay
Maria Simpson was born in Sydney, Australia. She worked as an English, Drama
and Music Teacher for many years in schools, TAFE and the University of
Newcastle. Jay has been a writer all her life. She moved to Perth, Western
Australia in 2011 following a personal tragedy. It was then that her poetry
exploded.
In
her poetry she explores reality, change, sorrow, sex, anger, death, love,
escape and memory. Jay pushes the boundaries in her writing. She often writes
from a dangerous, fearful place where you will find raw honesty. Her poems
might also dance in a happy sexual fairy garden. There is no pretension.
She
is recently published in ‘Voices from the Fire’ Anthology Vol 9, Dumpster Fire
Press, The Writer’s Club, Horror Sleaze Trash, Fevers of the Mind Showcase,
‘Ukraine: The Night and the Fire’ Anthology and ‘Bedroom Anatomy Lessons’
Anthology, Dumpster Fire Press.
Her
new manuscript, a book length anthology is being reworked with new poems,
themes and ideas. She is also putting together a chapbook of selected poems
dedicated to her daughter, Kate.
Jay
loves poetry, art, music, satire and black comedy. She also loves recording and
reading poetry publicly.
She is the Creative Director and Author at ‘Living Dangerously’.
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