Dear Frida

Dear Frida

You have long left this world
to its troubles and strife,
and while injustice runs wild
as through much of your life.
A letter I felt,
I must write to you.
Through your work and your strength,
you’ve inspired me to.
Stand and face my demons
and the pains of the past.
Take brush and paint my truth
as the hurt it will not last.
Exposing the internal,
creating light from deepest dark.
Shining rays on all my secrets,
tell my story in paints mark.

Dearest Frida,
I have never met you,
but I feel that I do know,
that place of sorrow,
from whence you came,
And the tears that helped you grow.
For lifes designs were plenty,
yet all were not of gold.
You’ve inspired me to bare my soul,
to be vunerable yet bold.

So thank you my dear Frida,
for your short life full of beauty.
I will raise you standard high and proud,
for I feel this is my duty.

By Adam Lucy
2018

Written and Performed at the ‘All Can Be Frida’ exhibition at Espacio Gallery, Shoreditch on 23/08/2018

The Note

The Note

Where was the note?
That crumpled paper
A faintly scrawled good bye
Tangible evidence of your pain
Of a conscious choice to leave.

Where is it?

Through each memory I have rummaged
Overturning boxes, emptying bags
Desperate for your final word.
Where you said you loved me,
Were proud of me,
Would forever be beside me,
Before you sank beneath the waters.

Where is the letter?
Your Pen on paper,
A testament of intent
To take away your light
To rid us of such joy.

There was no note,
No goodbye,
No explanation given,
The parchment blank
Forever white as snow.

The Crazy Ones

The Crazy Ones

They say it’s the crazy ones
Who make you feel crazy
Planted seeds of doubt
Watered with shame and tears of pain
Dense thorny thickets grow
Delivering bloody cuts and snagged clothing.

It’s the crazy ones that make you feel.
Unanswered calls
from a plea to communicate
Unrequited love
from a heart near breaking.

It IS the crazy ones
That make you feel crazy
Unravelled reality
Tripping down the rabbit hole.

Up is down
Right becomes wrong.
They say!

The crazy ones.

When Did You Last See Your Father?

When Did You Last See Your Father?

When did you last see your father?
The question delivered,
A mental blow.
Crisp starched linen ruffled
Surrounding, enveloping him.
Morphine induced halluncinations
Of clouds and peace.
My words of love,
of premature goodbyes,
Tears cascading down hot cheeks,
Noses wrinkled at antiseptic vapours.
Back turned and slow stepped
Retreat turns to route
Fleeing footsteps slapping
As if to escape my own
death.

When did you last see your father?
He asked.
When he said goodbye
I replied.

Road Map

Road Map

This is a face of violence,
Accidental and deliberate.
A face of such sorrow
And boundless communal joy.

Love has blessed this face
Bringing laughter and caress
Heartbreak has scared it
And lingers in its windows.

A road map to the present,
Of beginings and conclusions.
Valleys that will deepen,
Mountains that will rise.

This worn imperfect cover
Of a life and works to be,
This is the face of I alone,
My unfolding history.

©Adam Lucy 2017

Ode To Hawking

Ode To Hawking

A consciousness expanded,
At the speed of light.
The theory of everything,
It was born and took flight.

A body as a cage,
held a mind that roamed so free.
The cosmos and the stars,
a playground of infinity.

The sky seems so much darker,
the stars they shine less bright,
for a visionary has departed
on a quest into the night.

What secrets we have lost,
as we wait for coming dawn.
To our knowledge a great cost,
for truth we therefore mourn.

Written the morning of the news of Stephen Hawking’s death.

Head Full Of Wasps

Head Full Of Wasps

A head full of wasps,
incessantly buzzing under my skin,
Each wasp a thought a feeling,
A notion eardrums filtered in.

My heads a boiling hive of wasps,
a honeycombed place of reaction.
Do I act on every impulse,
allow fabrications to gain false traction?

Do I put my faith in lies,

when all untruths be told?
Will I alienate my closest,
until I sit alone and old?

Or do I take up arms and fight,
standing fast against deceits I find,
or do I take up arms and fight,
the voices in my mind.

©Adam Lucy 2016

Written shortly after the mental break down of a close friend.

Inky Pool

Inky Pool

That inky pool of darkness,
keeps on stalking me.
No matter where I try to hide,
or erratically flee.

For when the sun is shining,
I feel it’s present eyeless stare.
I turn a side street to evade it,
but it’s always waiting there.

At night below the street lights glow,
it triples up to three.
Oh inky pool of darkness,
why do you follow me?

You Called

You Called

You called my phone,

And I got your text,

I never returned or replied,

There would always be a next,

Time.

 

A next time to converse,

A next time to meet,

A next time to hang out,

A next time to complete,

Our discussions.

 

You asked could you see me,

Spend some time at my house,

Sun ourselves in the park,

Or just chill,

I was busy.

 

A next time to converse,

A next time to meet,

A next time to hang out,

A next time to complete,

Our discussions.

 

You never called me,

You never text,

Your never reached out,

And there will be no next,

Time.

 

No next time to converse,

No next time to meet,

No next time to hang out,

No next time,

Forever incomplete.

 

I long for the day,

For my phone to ring,

Flash up with your number,

Hear your voice sing,

Next Time,

Next Time,

Next Time.

 

©Adam Lucy 2017

Remember The Summer

Remember The Summer

Remember the summer,

its joys and its laughter.

Remember possibilities

of those happy ever afters.

 

Remember bare skinned warmth,

of the balmy evening time.

Those long walks through the city,

when your heart was mine.

 

Remember the azure,

of the blue hours evening sky,

and the golden flourish of the dusk,

where suns embers came to die.

 

Please cast your mind back on last time,

When summers love was true.

When you walked and held my hand and heart,

 when I believed in you.

 

©Adam Lucy 2016