Dust

Poem written by Luke Downing
Spoken by Katie Greenbrown

Shot by Luke Downing today, and his ancestors 60 years ago.

Dust from Luke Downing on Vimeo.

Lost toys and broken wings

They placed them there.
Where they should never
have been.
Blind broken toys,
searching,
     searching,
          searching.

Crows can become doves,
under the right light.
Where moths swoop,
and swoon:
The summer’s death-kiss.
Where hate replaces
lies.

And the body
frames.
Impossible projections.
Where imagined potential
overcomes.
The truth,
of broken toys.

One fixed,
one forgotten:
Left dancing.
Alone with autumn’s butterflies.

Your Decay

Your walls stand weak against shadows that spread,
Warping your contents beyond all meaning;
The flakes of your past feeble from leaning.
I see it amongst you; within the dead,
It makes and becomes you like pure black dread.
Your floor starts to creak like heavy lungs heaving;
The wild echoes seamlessly convening,
Till darkness fills all of where you may tread.
But I will be there and forever stay,
Fighting your shadows with all of my light;
I came for a reason to gently lay,
Rest your fear and ease your darkest of blight.
Shadows become lucent; your night to day,
I’ll give you that hope, that passion, that fight.

The Frame

Resting against this pure white, sturdy wall,
Is a frame of glass, cheap plastic and grime;
Clinging to images of a lost time.
An inscription engraved in listless scrawl,
Of illegible letters used to haul
Back to moments that reek of the sublime,
When stood against walls that flattered its’ prime,
Unburdened by conscience, never to fall.
It frames white thoughts that may never have been,
A raging spirit that was never seen.
Dreams so often promised; never fulfilled.
Something to reach to; heavily instilled.
But amongst it all is a tiny clue,
An image within, of someone: it’s you.

Phase

It’s just a phase she’s going through, they’d whisper in their bed.
     but she seems so happy, he said.
It’s just a phase she’s going through, proclaimed father to father.
     but she feels so free, they said.
It’s just a phase she’s going through, they’d tell the family at tea.
     but I’m in love, she said.

She watched them watch her, in their disapproving scorn,
This, she knew, was not the reason that she’d been born.

Maybe she felt different,
     like she didn’t quite fit.
A fly on the wall in the game of freedom,
Daring to swoop amongst it,
     where the family couldn’t see.

Well, they saw the phase, that’s true,
     but they forgot to look at you.

I live my life in movie scenes

I live my life in movie scenes.
A childhood spent wrapped,
In a bright red cape,
With dreams of flight within my means.
….
“Use the force” they’d say at church;
It’s real if you’ll only feel it.
Well the force was weak it seems, in me,
There’s something else that I can’t quite see.
….
Playground battles crying “Rufio”,
Lost boys in their bliss.
And like in every coming of age,
We’d clash into clichés and miss,
The fact that we were
Kings of a Summer,
That couldn’t carry on.
….
Unspoken romances in a hotel room;
A simple touch of affection.
What did he whisper?
And does she know,
That the love was Lost in Translation?
….
We heard all about,
The blameless vestal’s lot.
But the Eternal Sunshine,
in your Spotless Mind,
Doesn’t mean that I forgot.
….
A head filled with a fantasy,
Of going back in time,
With no DeLorean to drive.
So I’d stray into American Beauty,
Where I was destined not to thrive.
….
But the movies always end great, right?
The credits roll and they turn on the light.
….
So this is How I Live Now.
I’ve left my seat,
Into the day
Enjoying the real,
Letting the pictures fade away.

A Mark

I can taste it now; teasing at the tip,
Of my tongue as I drink greedily in,
With one hungry gulp of self-serving sin.
I waited at first, for chance to unzip,
The secret you held just close to your hip.
A mark that showed me where I could begin
And lead me to a place in which you’d pin
Me to you with an unknowing firm grip.
It’s grown stronger now so don’t let it become,
A reason by which to forget how sweet,
An elixir we shared; free of jitter,
A medicine to rouse the secret numb.
I know though in time, drowning in effete,
The last sip I take, wincing; is bitter.