‘for e. d.’ Lois Linkens

 

the city glitters after dark,
busy busy night-owls
shuffle and scuffle
in their white-glass nests.
and we watch,
tired eyes and heavy bags
on a faraway train

we are sexless soulmates
and brotherly brides,
platonic partners pledged
in the ink of mutual need
and searching hearts

sisters in arms,
rosy-cheeks and high-school charms;
my curly-haired comic

heads full of homework,
a makeshift skyline
of yet-to-be
paints itself across the dark,
as young love
rings it’s soon-forgotten bell

confused youth;
a cloud-grey gosling
peeks its ugly head
through the bulrushes
to see the swans;

we are cast-away boats
in stormy seas,
just looking for a place to land.


[ Lois describes herself as a “confused english student,” though one quickly finds a polished, charming poet in her work. She has an elegant style that compliments her keen insight and whimsical sensibilities. It is a pleasure to present her work, and you can find more of it at Lois E. Linkins.]

A Convenient Marriage – Lois E. Linkins

we sleep in separate beds,
to clear our clouded heads.
we keep our secrets wrapped
in gaudy signatures and glasses cracked
over organ flourishes.
we have rooms upon rooms,
some shortage of love
made up in statement wallpaper and bespoke furniture.

the sweeping staircase
holds centre place,
a marble decoy
feels as cold as the flesh
behind the welcome and the wine;
we keep our hands apart,
modern art
stands for wedding photos developed unseen,
money sadly spent
on a white pretence
that fill so many baby dreams;
tradition screams.

mais oui,
it seems that playground jests
have found their poorest manifest
in our little life of theatre.

mama, he thinks our homespun play
is swallowed like tequila,
he believes the empty nursery unnoticed,
sitting in his claw-foot bathtub
with a beard of bubbles,
oblivious to the pool of mockery
in which he is submerged;
mama, it would not take much!
oh, for some sweet humour with the help…
yes, i could be content.

 


 

[ Lois describes herself as a “confused english student,” though one quickly finds a polished, charming poet in her work. She has an elegant style that compliments her keen insight and whimsical sensibilities. It is a pleasure to present her work, and you can find more of it at Lois E. Linkins.]

blu-tac-lois e. linkens

i will wipe your lipstick from the glass,

scrub the rings

off the coffee table,

and throw out the toothbrush and its plastic mug,

that sat

balanced on the sink

like a rock

on a cliffside

as if it paid rent.

 

you always knocked it off,

with your baggy sleeves –

you’d wet your hair

when you rinsed your mouth.

it was cold when you kissed me.

 

i will take your photo out of its frame,

and move your letters from the drawer.

i want to leave your diary by the bed –

if you visit, you could leave me a note,

if you wanted.

every day i have checked –

but the pages still are empty.

i will throw it out.

 

but

i will leave

the little knob of sticky tack

stuck above your desk

by the picture of bowie,

your fingerprint engraved

in the soft dip

pressed on its light blue skin.

 

i will leave it there,

because though others may wear lipstick

and drink coffee

and write poems,

your fingerprint

is the one thing i have

that could only be made

by you.


[Lois describes herself as a “confused english student,” though one quickly finds a polished, charming poet in her work. She has an elegant style that compliments her keen insight and whimsical sensibilities. It is a pleasure to present her work, and we ask you to take a second to look at more of her wonderful work.]

loise.linkens

Careless Whisper Lois E. Linkens/Christine Ray

I am late

to the designated place

excuses ready, half-truths at hand

you are oh-so-lovely in shell pink

your soft lips offered

I kiss your cheek instead

unable to meet your guileless eyes

 

the bar is dark, 

dimly lit by bare lightbulbs in glass jars,

hanging by copper wires

from the ceiling. 

the smell of warm beer

cigarettes 

and musky aftershave 

forces its way into every nook.

 

it is loud and crowded tonight

my nerves jangle

I scan the crowd half hoping she is here

half hoping she is not

this place is a favorite

you have seen her here yourself

 

waiters float between tables

like human candles

black and white ghosts 

in a castle of money 

and make-believe.

there are big men at the tables

decorated by pretty girls

in jewels and lace.

 

A friend of a friend of a friend

I ran into her when you were away

innocent, just a shared drink, a laugh

not so innocent the second time

or the third. . .

 

clouds of smoke 

hover, 

making me drowsy.

I pinch myself, hard.

my skin shimmers in the fogged light,

shadowed corners suddenly

illuminated in yellow,

pink and blue.

 

I nod subtly

in acknowledgement

to the witnesses of my past crimes

their lips sealed

engaged in their own dark dealings

 

above the murmur of the guests,

a song begins to play.

right on cue,

your cold hand brushes mine.

 

I spot her across the room

she is cool as a cucumber

low-cut dress, crimson lips

her look reminds me

that not so long ago I left her bed

her hair tousled, lips bruised, lying

languid amongst silk sheets

 

the room twinkles as the girls rise

dark shapes moving 

through the mist 

towards the checkerboard clearing

tired, your touch wearies me.

something is different tonight,

you are different. 

shy, perhaps nervous –

you do not hold me as you did before.

there are familiar faces

gliding past us

as we dance.

 

I am hot and cold,

sweating and chilled

heartbeat hammering

 

turquoise dresses,

crystals and purple satin,

ruffles and curls,

mirrored shoes

and crisp shirts.

 

I love you, sweet girl, truly

but she is my addiction, an obsession

I hate myself

for wishing I was still in her bed

 

people stand, silhouetted 

around us

like circus-goers.

 

I do not realize at first

that she and her friends

mimic our trajectory to the dance floor

I try to focus on you, not them

 

a waiter trips, glass tinkling 

as it smashes 

like stars 

on the wooden floor.

an old man lights his cigar 

from a match

between the teeth 

of a girl in green.

the air feels cold and unfriendly, 

the steps unfamiliar.

 

I am distracted, torn

the pounding of the blood

in my ears drowning out the beat

of the music

 

we have danced a thousand times

but this night 

feels like the first again, I think.

you move before me

yet you are not with me,

you swirl in a place unknown to me

 

I struggle to maintain

my composure

her friends keep looking at us, at me

turning back to her, they whisper

their laughter cuts through the din

their knowing looks sear me

 

I watch your eyes –

as you catch mine 

you stumble.

you fall against me,

forcing me back against a table edge,

scores of pain leaping down my spine.

 

moment of truth

you see the betrayal in my eyes

my feet fail, I fall further

cause you more pain

 

feet stagger

chairs clatter

lights flicker 

hot tears

i wipe my stinging eyes

and through the dirty light

a slither of gold snaps out of sight 

guilty feet 

gone 

and you do not come back for me

 

I have never seen so clearly

how flawed and faithless I am

unworthy

suddenly there is nothing left

but goodbye

 

This tribute to George Michael is the first collaborative poem written by Sudden Denouement Literary Collective’s Lois E. Linkens and Christine Ray of Brave and Reckless.  Hopefully it will not be the last.