Luke Nicholson Poems

The Navigator was a quiet man.

Maps betray the attentive detail of their heroes.
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My bell is broken.

Swirling.
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If i were to see myself through your eyes.

Call it quits, take up permenant residance in my own, imagined world.
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I’ve known an American girl for a while but I’ve only just begun to meet her.

She has a lot to learn but so do I.
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I am aware that as soon as you start to write words such as dark, troubled and childhood in the same sentence you know you’ve taken a turn down self indulgence alley, but there is no avoiding the fact that I had what would be considered a pretty volatile time as a kid.

This would have permitted me (some would say) to have settled for an easy life justified by this knowledge but I never wanted anyone to say “well it’s understandable how he turned out isn’t it… I mean look at what he had to deal with”.
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I am not this ill intent, i am but badly drawn.

Are you badly drawn too?
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Mother, thee i do adore.

Wilting and you wilt.
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Gathering.


The slow songs work the most.
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You swing back and forth.

Echoes.
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