Poems—Edward Lee
Edward Lee's poetry, short stories, non-fiction and photography have been published in magazines in Ireland, England and America, including The Stinging Fly, Skylight 47, Acumen, The Blue Nib and Poetry Wales. His poetry collections are Playing Poohsticks On Ha’Penny Bridge, The Madness Of Qwerty and A Foetal Heart.
He also makes musical noise under the names Ayahuasca Collective, Orson Carroll, Lego Figures Fighting, and Pale Blond Boy.
His blog/website can be found at https://edwardmlee.wordpress.
HE DARES CALL IT LOVE
Kisses
made of teeth
are all she's ever known,
somehow signing
up to a life
she didn't want,
one she can't seem
to escape from either,
preoccupied, as she is,
with cleaning her perpetually bleeding wounds,
helplessly preparing herself
for the next flow of kisses
which shine enamel bright
in the dark as much as they do
in the sun.
THIS SILENT PAIN
Stared at the sun
too long in my effort
to be alive, now
everything has become
a ghost floating across my vision,
the only cure for which
being rooms of darkness
for days on end,
the perfect environment
for my mind to begin murmuring again
of the peaceful sense
to be found
in the bottom
of all this night,
this potentially endless night.
CHOICE
I didn't kill you,
but I didn't
try to keep you living,
though how
I could have done
such a thing,
I don't know,
when the decision
was never truly mine
to allow you to be born,
but I could have tried,
in whatever way I could find,
even if it was no more
than a promise disguised
as an argument, or vice versa,
whichever made the most sense,
and in that attempt
avoided this guilt
that catches my breath
when it greets me
every morning I wake
from troubled sleep,
the shadows of possibility
hidden in dreams
still clinging to my skin.
WHAT WE HAD
We slept at different hours,
our waking lives
barely crossing over,
yet we lived in love
for four years, almost five
now that I think of it,
never once wanting more
than what we had,
until our sleeping lives
became disturbed
by the sleeping life
of another, one
which aligned with yours.
CAUSE
We cannot talk
of the explosion
without speaking
of the fuse,
and who lit its tapered end,
but we avoid those words
and the truth
they contain,
happier to dwell
on lies and recriminations
that spell out other names.
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