Moon Cake

Birthday cake, yours,

A bloated moon that doesn’t shine;

We gather and ignite

Candles as gnarled as trees

Grown in fairy tales

You are not here

To blow them out

But have still taken root

In thoughts that sit like petulant goblins,

In belongings that slump unused

I cannot fill your boots

Lurking by the door

There is nothing to get you but flowers;

We are heavy

But still sing, uninspired drone

Fan the flames away

In thin whines of smoke

And I see the long wings of grief,

Dogged albatross sorrow

Cutting incandescent night,

Dipping across blackened wicks,

Wax sticks standing small

Beneath their now extinguished light

Like the Ancient Mariner,

I must tell anyone with ears

Your tale

Since eleven years

Have over passed

And I still find myself at sea

With the battering waves

And twisted serpents

Howling up a gale

As long as the loyal bird of loss

Takes time to follow me,

Everyone will know your name

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November

I’ll take this November

To remember,

Not gunpowder, not parliament, or plots,

But you who lived,

Law of language running.

Treason when you were made silent

Stopped.

The words you could

No longer say were coloured,

Torture on the rack;

Golden words,

Goodbye in red

Splintering dark between

I think of my co-conspirator

Your consonants of love in green,

And want my childhood back