Traces of the way we were

Have you ever watched somebody you love die? Real life feels surreal when you witness your beloved become lifeless.

On a dark December night, I stood in the hospital alongside my siblings at my mothers bedside. We hung our heads in sombre silence. Mum lay in a coma in the…

A poem

Out of the night
here comes Sunday morning like a remedy for dark times.
I wake up alone
longing for a touch of love and the scent of fresh air.
As winter looms closer
I see nothing but grey/blue sky
and hear foolishness echoing all around.
Amongst the chaos
leaves and snowflakes fall gracefully without a sound.
When trouble clouds thoughts and fills lungs like smoke
I follow the sun through this cold, cold world
with everything and nothing to lose.
When falling to pieces —
life remains precious somehow.
So, until the end and from the beginning
—stardust to ashes—
keep dreaming and dreaming and dreaming
keep our world spinning and spinning and spinning.

A poem/song — parody

Alone in quiet places conversation flowed like water — we began as friends, we laughed until the sun set and the stars came out — but that’s not where our story ends

morning came with pools of light inside our eyes we broke the dawn just like a dream come…

A poem

In a movie of my own making,
you come towards me with your pretty brown eyes and mahogany skin,
as my heart begins to skip and race—
I already know what type of trouble I’m in.

We didn’t hurry love but It’s already too late to stop it.
With a single puff of our breaths—
we scatter each other away like fragile dandelion clocks.
Now we’re inverted parachutes in flight, drifting farther and farther apart.

I whisper to a sky full of sunset
‘you and me were meant to love and loathe this world together,
but instead,
you and me just blew our last chance away forever.’

A poem

In these waters,
there will be blood,
rot and regret and holes in lungs that threaten to flood.
There is mercy but there’s no boat,
no desire to swim or drown — so we just float.

In these waters,
there are inevitable things;
unwritten words, crumpled letters and wilted leaves.

A thought or three about writers life, songbirds and seasons

This morning, sitting at my dining table thinking about writing — trying to complete a piece, I let myself slip into a daydream. The outside spilled in ‘and the walls became the world all around’.* Writing is a book of dreams. A wild and peculiar dream I create, full of…

A poem

Nobody wants a writer who writes like me.

I am Black mixed with Black;
cinnamon and ginger;
water and flora and blood and melanin.
Through a poem I write across the night sky
like a shooting star over a rainforest,
I live a thousand lives—
forever moonlighting.

Nobody wants a…

A prose poem

I’m steady yawning, day is dawning. A slum flower breaking out of the cracks appearing in the sun-kissed, blushing night. I’m stirring from forgettable dreams of this ghetto arse Earth. My cheeks are lit by scattered twilight as I rise to the melody of Septembers swan-song shaking the sleep away…

A Poem

As the Earth spins us into day and night
and the moon pulls the tides higher and lower,
waves water the bones of another poem
and words cling to paper oceans like wet clothes on skin.
After sunset, this poem becomes the lighthouse.

D Abboh

Hey there - I'm D. Writer/Storyteller | Creative Non-Fiction | Poetry. I know a little Tai Chi - but my Kung Fu is weak. Email: dabboh76@outlook.com

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