Short Cheek(A) Poems

Quiet as a mouse
tip toeing to the shower 
washed, dressed, now ready
her cheek, a loving kiss left
looking back, tanned beauty sleeps




31/03/15...

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There an intimacy
even if unspoken
in a goodbye.
It may be no more
than the warmth
of a hand brushing
a cheek, a smile,
a reflection seen
in the eyes of a farewell
but deny, or try
something lingers....

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She lay upon the sand, lowtide-cold, salted-dry, dissheveled.
Tomorrow would have been her twenty first birthday,
unadorned, except for the seaweed in her brassy blonde hair.
Tip-toeing across her blue-gray cheek, a pink crab foraged,
unhindered, it dined on the whites of her eyes.
Only the sea and sand cradled her now.






First Published in Of Sun and Sand 2013
part Of a hurricane Press...

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The sum of years raced past her eyes
Faces, places, loved, despised 

Tender feelings, broken hearts
Lies unspoken, well played parts

All collected in this glass
With amber liquid mixed, alas

The burning feeling had begun
Her thoughts appraising what she'd done

On her cheek, a single tear
Her vision blurred, but her mind clear

Prepared to leave it all behind
There, in a glass, a life defined...

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“I need some space” said with a sigh;
	But I had something in my eye.
Said she, “It is not you, it’s me”;
	I suffered from an allergy.
“Let’s be friends!” – a trite refrain;
	There on my cheek a drop of rain.
“I am not the one for you”;
	While in my face, a cold wind blew.
“I’m sorry” said with true regret,
	And on my lash, a bit of sweat.
What fell when she said her “Good-bye”?
	A tear? No way – I do not cry....

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So that you are left barely a person
Near inhuman, but just...
Mind and body wrecked with havoc
Trying to persuade people that you are still who you once were
They fail to believe-
     To remember that you are
     To remember who you are
And in remembering, mind turns cheek a pale, bitter pink
So flinches the upward turned palm
That makes humility seem flawed
Purposeless and incomplete
Fading, one must, in and out of sleep
Just to be sober enough to get on....

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Pencil jumped out of my right hand and gave my left fingers a tiny tap
Three new ideas came to me in a quick snap; I needed pencil back.
Pencil refused to take direction, gave my cheek a tiny slap.
It was my fault for personalizing him and naming him Mack.
Mack wrote for an hour and ten minutes, never taking a break.
I noted it was all about himself, and most of it was fake.
Serves me right for giving him free rein.
Having an arrogant pencil is a bit of a pain....

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If you long for a licking thrash,
Then, touch a guy's earned cash:
A move ingloriously rash!
And you shall equally clinch a has:
On either cheek a… finishing gash!

The nearest thing to A Trash 
Is eyeing someone’s cash, 
To it in some bank stash…
Teeth shall ceaselessly gnash 
And cornered one’s future dash;
A name lose in a flash 
Or have it mixed up with Ash…
Like it had happened to a Nash 
And it wasn’t a little crash.

For the caught Petty thief,
It is still big grief!...

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