So it was me and you. In the bath tub. Downstairs with Star Trek VHS. Us with Enid Blyton books lined up. Us skidding down church centre halls on our knees. Us playing footy on the village green and booting it into the graveyard. The one where you now reside. Us cross streaming in the bog. Us cracking up over Uncle Barry’s elongated stories round the dining table. Us on Fleetwood promenade. Us on the Nintendo 64. Us under grandpa and grandmas dining table. Us on the bus, me in front of you both listening to deftones. Us in the canteen pretending we didn’t know one another. Us on the bus home and walking over the cobblestone path at Ditton Place. Us in our bedrooms reading the same books but not talking. Us walking to the bus stop, me a tad behind you. Us at different universities. Studying the same prose. Us drinking together the first time and collapsing the nuclear family. Us falling over car bonnets. Us drinking in a gay bar and fighting cos I’m an extrovert and you’re an introvert. Us in the lounge after you quit uni. Us us us. Us talking but not really talking. Us in Cornwall when I heard through the door mum was leaving Dad. Us in that room. Us crying. You not drinking, me drinking, you not crying, me crying. Us back home. Us drinking. Us breaking apart. Us in rehab. Us not in rehab. Us always in rehab. Us us us. Us emailing. Us texting. Us clicking again. Us laughing. Us squealing. Us connecting. Us phoning. Us connecting. Us reading the same books. Us talking about them. You dying. Me crying. Me burying you. Me begging God to lift you up like Lazarus.
Peeling back the fruit of sky
I rise again in glory
Dawn cracking vermillion breath
Holy Spirit descend upon me
Inspire, transcend, glorify
Radiate my soul before I expire
May the pavement mirror
All the sights I’ve been fortunate
enough to see. Force my torso upward
and witness your promise.
Nothing New From Inside My Cell.
Each day has its blessings
and its woes
Which is why in times
like these we count
the blessings more
We look back and act
like we were happier then
But in truth were prisoners
of the multiple outcomes
we’d wish would dissolve
We can’t chose to opt out
of free will.
And home doesn’t exist here;
No place to lay your head without
an act of faith to keep you beating
the same dull drum
new under the sun.
Jon a writer from Maidstone in Kent. His first book Longing For More was published by Wordsmithery in 2018. The Death of Marlon Brando chapbook was published by Analog Submission in 2019.
He is inspired by the writings of Fante and Bukowski. Regardless, he thinks the Russians are by far the best. He was named as a top 8 poet to look out for from gigwise.com. He thinks he was born in the wrong country.
One thought on “ Poetry by Jon Terranova ”
Thank you Jon, I find your work very deep, dark and poignant and deeply personal. There is such beauty and honesty there and thank you for that. After many years you have given me the inspiration to write again which is what I needed. Keep on…… best wishes, Linda
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