A poem about love and comfort by David Tombale: At the beside

One of the great things about love is that you can allow yourself to be vulnerable around the person you care for and that’s what this poem is really about.

At the bedside

Stifle my grief, when the noonday

tides of passing cars bring with them

an outpouring of memories and tears,

when the heavy weight of sheets

and linen crowd me in, burying me

beneath the clogging scent of roses

smelling sickly sweet upon my bedside

table, she sits with me,

she waits with me while the tired cries

of the neighbor’s cat keep me up at night,

she soothes my fears.

A poem about fear by David Tombale: The miles

Fear is something almost every regular person faces in their lives learning to tackle it allows you to build a stronger you and that’s what The miles is about.

 

 

 

The miles

 

 

The miles keep rolling on and

 threaten to take the heart from

 me, but I am not afraid.

 

 The copper coloured sky serves as

 my beacon and I keep going on,

 running across these yellow fields.

 

 The miles keep rolling, tearing up

 and winding, but I’ve replied I am

 not afraid, because these skies have

 sheltered me, watered my drying skin,

 fed my soul with love for their purple

 haze, the white upon the trees.

 

 The miles have carved these lines

 upon my face but I have roared

 I am not afraid, because these words

 have held me close, this house, these

 leaves, her pink tipped toes, her love,

 this scarlet rose.

 

 

A poem about fear by David Tombale: You're afraid

This poem was inspired by the prompt, "You're not afraid of love, you're afraid of not getting loved back." It seemed interesting enough to build a little narrative around.

You’re afraid

 

He wrote a note in black

and left it by her windowsill

so no matter what day

 might come she would

always remember him

 

 Crumpled paper sits by

her short black hair,

 one hand beneath and one around

and though the tears won’t come

her days go down beside the sun,

leaving the light of dusk to fill her

 house with scent of love that’s passing by

 

 Those written words she said

have ripped my heart,

“You are not afraid of love,

you are afraid of not getting

loved back.”

 

 

A poem about nostalgia and life by David Tombale: Sometimes

Life can sometimes change so drastically and so quickly that it leaves us dazed and longing for the familiar past. SOMETIMES is all about those feelings.

Sometimes

I find sometimes that I think
about the taste of ice cream
and watermelons

the drenching wet and rapid fire
of sprinklers as we sprinted through
them hand in hand.

Sometimes I think of Saturdays
spent rolling round, the tv’s on
and I’d play Hogan and tear my
shirt to bits, (at least I’d try).

Sometimes I think of Star Wars
and Indiana Jones, the days you’d be
Macgyver and I’d play the villain

sometimes I think of life before the
evening news and they’d frightened us
with bulletins and bullets,
car bombs and anthrax,
Ebola and the latest flu epidemic.

Sometimes I think things were easier
when the bad guys dressed in black
and the worst things we ever saw
were those damn commercials before
the good guys won and the credits rolled.

 

A poem about travelling by David Tombale: Moving past

When I was nineteen I finally left home to attend college in Malaysia. Looking my fear about trying to adapt to my new environment, not to mention dealing with culture. I put all of that and more into this piece and I hope what's in it will ring true with a lot people.
Moving past

The miles run inland past the sea,
they lead me slowly like a riverboat
laying up against the shore

Oh sight of home recedes leaving taste
of salt and tears to settle in my lungs
but I breathe deeply

Oh scent of air, perfume of laundry soap
and sound of chatter, catcalls and the
yellow of taxi signs, a nest of starlings
that burst with movement and the
crinkle of green and red

My mother’s name surrenders
itself into this tongue,
Abang, he tells me I’ve called him uncle

This is not my home but as shoulders spin
me and I’m dragged along I see a
city pierce the jungle green,
I feel the rain upon my cheeks and
the touch of fingers that grip my hand
to join the clamor of strangers moving past.