Diamond Water

If I had a daughter

I would tell her

each tear that falls is diamond water.

 

Do not waste them on unworthy men

My mother says, do not trust

the blue-eyed boys

who smile,

Look carefully, she says

For the growl

escaping

from in between his teeth.

He will gnaw you to white bone,

The sinew

he will cut through you like rope,

 

the hint of the devil curled into the corner of his mouth

Prohibition-

liquor, against her

he could not see the fire

In her ribcage of flames

so burn him to the ground

Before he has a chance to put it out.

 

You flew free.

The caged little bird grew up to be a wild raven,

A Wanderess,

Walking over the ashes of lost men.

 

So, again, my dear child.

Each tear that falls is diamond water,

Do not waste them on unworthy men.

Distance

 

Distance came to me a year later,

Tall and handsome,

he had not changed.

 

But, You haven’t known Distance.

Not until he says hello,

and you can’t recognise his voice anymore

 

Until he hugs you

and his arms

feel foreign,

 

Until you breathe him in

but his scent has been

forgotten.

 

I was certain I only knew Distance

once you were no longer familiar

to me.

 

But two years later,

Distance came again,

and

I welcomed him back

like an old friend.

 

 

My poem ‘Manon’ published as part of a special series for the global exploitation of women on Whisper and the Roar, a feminist literary collective

Paris was vibrant, the outskirts, charcoal. In dark corners the women in red lifted skirts for men in top hats. Manon was a demi-monde beauty, scarlett dressed and wide-eyed, Harlot, They called her, The men with grasping hands who were always hungry. An animal appetite behind human eyes A beast in a suit. If you […]

via Manon- Tina Rose — Whisper and the Roar

Willow Tree Dreams

My willow tree/
dream
All bark and brown and
leafy green/
Suddenly changes/ the weather tugs
At milk clouds/birds disperse/
A storm ahead/ humid grey and orange streaks
The rain almost disbands in on itself/ Then
An explosion/
A thousand tiny drop-
lets
see what happens next/
The sky said to the willow tree,
As the sun tickled my neck to say hello
And ‘don’t forget about me’/
the sky a purple florid
Then dusk
a pop of white/
I welcomed the milky way /that night
in willow tree dreams

Summer dress weather

Sun soaked days

And summertime dresses

 

Ice cream hands

Bumble-bee flowers

 

Painted toes

and flip-flop weather

 

Me and you

Together

‘Yellow Daffodils’ Flora & Fauna edition in Palatinate

This is my spring poem ‘Yellow Daffodils’ published in the Palatinate, Durham University’s newspaper. I just love the gorgeous floral illustration!

Yellow Daffodils

You see that I don’t look so good in yellow, like your other dolls they do.

🌼

Yellow daffodils that matched her dress

The sun in her eyes as she lay down to rest,

She waited and waited for him to arrive

But the day it grew cold

As she opened her eyes,

Where are you? She wondered

Heartbeat in mouth,

The sun it was going

Tears they fell down

Creases in dress as she whispered his name,

It was spring when he left

And spring when he came.

 

Away

I went to the Irish countryside

to get away from you

To breathe the clearer air in

To breathe you out for good.

Myself, ah, I found myself again!

 

I found Laughter

a cabin in the woods.

Thank goodness

Ireland made me a home,

Because I was never home

with you.

 

In Rathdrum, County Wicklow

mountains, streams,

and forestry,

A little farm

away from you,

You far away from me.

 

How refreshing to wake up to birdsong

instead of your mother tongue,

When you would drown me in water kisses.

How you would laugh

as I held my breath 

counting, 1,2,3

 

screaming

internally

1,2,3

Let me go let me go 

let me leave.

Monday Mornings

You reminded me of a Monday morning cigarette break.

That between awake and asleep

Feeling,

Wishing

the day away,

With my rolled-up heart

Charred around the edges

lusting

for the blackness

That came with your presence.

Your kiss with its darkness

And your charcoal throat

The same warmth

that arrived with a raspy inhalation

of smoke through nose to chest,

My tar lungs and cigarette breath.

Burnt out amber

Of orange and black

Sparks against pavement,

The miniature fireworks

Under my fake Laboutin shoe.

You were my

Narcotic, Insomniac Addiction

Darling, Come Monday morning,

I thought of you.

Folded

“Am I still your favourite person?”

I asked, eyes wide,

Arms wrapped behind my back like folded

Linen laundry,

Egyptian cotton.

Can you unfold me and

tug at the frayed  edges until we forget they existed,

Kiss me clean.

“Am I still your favourite person?” I ask,

Or just forgotten

dirty

laundry.