COALITION
Darling my heart extends for you
as far as sea and beyond the truce of time
you make me glow, you make me need to rhyme.
I borrow your jerseys, warmed times two
by sentiment and wilted polar fleece
I stand with you, I weaken at the knees.
We go kick a ball above the town
to catch the dusk until the daylight’s drained,
explosive love. My syntax rearranged,
learning your language has opened me
I surrender inflexibility and roll the double rrs.
We gender nouns, still feminism cares.
Darling you left so much for me
and found so much! The planet’s fairly dense hey?
You snagged me in your arms, caught me like fence hay.
A girl from the foothills, a lad from the alps,
we’ll leave the crowd and take up seasonal work
cherries and apples by day, and plums at dark.
We’ll sow an empire, we’ll hold hands in the dark.
.
IT’S OKAY IF
Luke is really hurt
Luke is angry
Aaron’s heart is racing
Jim is yelling at you
Matt is going to come down
You and Luke are arguing
Aaron is crying
Matt isn’t saying anything
You are sick of company
Esmee is crying
Tulip is screaming
Luke is lecturing, and you
stop listening and walk off
The driver leaves you by a motorway
You are urinating yourself
All of these people
lost in their feelings
want to pause time
and tell you it’s okay.
.
GLOBAL PARTAKE
The bite-about we have of seasons
hemisphere sisters, he and I.
Passing not back and forth
the sweet, leaking pear
instead armfuls of crispy lost canopy
yellow bundle, tree cash
cache of surrender
sycamore, maple and ash
Handing back news of blossoms
leavened, light
“pink and pinkish-white
some already falling”
Turn and turn-about
the mailman comes calling.
.
EXISTENTIAL CELEBRATION
What a privy-lege it is, to be
in the pantheon of What Is.
My hands buckle colour
when I flex them on a cold morning.
What a privilege
gambling to find God’s pronoun,
my own, and wondering
if there’s such a thing as ‘the others’’.
Trying ‘I’ ‘you’ ’s/he’ ‘we’ ‘you all’ and ‘they’
like summer rendezvous
each one feels good
and I love them all simultaneously,
separated to time and space.
Is it w a t e r which is alive?
Is wai the waiora? The life force?
Is water God? Behaving as pittosporum,
acacia, and Angela.
An endless ongoing of reunions, of transpersonalism.
I sit on the curb and scratch my nose.
.
UNTITLED
strangely I am in love, I go live in whatever you say
.
DESTINY
The year before
The year after
The fear before
the laughter
The aft and fore
The to and fro
The decision not
impartial
Electing you
no, finding, knowing
our love couldn’t
fake disaster
Love capable
of ripening, seeding,
Codera, we slept
below rafters
This first, in Bruxelles
you kissed my head
you gave me my
hereafter
I saw our fate –
These three, us two,
the harp, the tone,
the harpist.
.
UNTITLED
When did our love become solid? When did the yarn become cloth?
.
BONFIRE
18/10/17
On the porch by an iron barrow
our brazier, I ask a prince
did he remember so and so
these four years since?
He told me though of course he did
he’d no idea the whereabouts
of my old Love. And rubbed his rib
and scratched his mouth.
He’s south, I said, and with his father
working, stable, with a woman,
that was all, I’d nothing further
not a murmur.
As would suit him. Sly, evasive
made of cipher, sometimes substance
olive skin, tattoos, the face of
God. As equidistant.
Yet also as present, deep as that,
profound and intimate, gentle, tender,
otherworldly. There I sat
and nudged a glimmer.
My Love gave me his artistry
I passed my hand to him and told
him there to write my mythology.
God I was bold.
He phoned me not so long ago
apologized, but too fast I forgave,
not learning for what, only having known
he’d broke my heart.
Neglecting me till I’d screamed the demons
out. And broke a lung, contracted
chronic thought, and lived to name
metabolic supremacy.
This guy was something of life, one thing
of the raggle taggle and precision planet.
Others have washed and wept over me, singing.
He was one Pandora.
We expand like that, and contract.
We shiver to bloom, and die back.
We were mad and sincere on the germ of the infinite,
destroyed and restored, yet the skin never becomes igneous.
We’d met our composite in each other;
thermic, protonic, sister, brother.
On the porch by an iron barrow
I think of my love, flexing a knife.
Two mortal, tangy, wild voices
grafted from the Tree of Life.
.
Angela Trolove 