Poetry

Enchanted

Three steps forwards,

the girl surely took

and on her path did find

 

the boy to wake her heart

from its frozen state

and bring clarity to her mind.

 

He spoke to her,

rambling away the thorns

on every stroll they took,

 

and never for a moment

did she feel

that he hadn’t understood.

Poetry

Droplets

They roll down your cheeks,

Little universes

Each containing a fragment of your

Astonishment and pure joy.

A child whose eyes have been

Opened to the beauties of the natural world;

Meadows full of wild flowers,

Rock pools and puddles,

Waves rushing forward

Like herds of galloping white horses.

But you are no child,

And the wonder overwhelming you is

Love,

In its truest form,

And the knowledge that she

Is filled with it too,

Her body not big enough to contain it.

So out it comes

As tears

to match yours.

Poetry

Finish line

It struck me as rain from a light cloud

hit by the silvery rays of the moon.

A month later, it had solidified

to become blocks of crystal

that I neatly began shaping into

the foundations of a wall.

Three months after that, the wall

stood the same height as me.

Then it overtook me,

and grew into a cliff

I was struggling to climb.

The more I tried,

the further I slipped.

But determination is a strong summon,

and when I took a moment

to combine it with time,

the cliff melted

and showed me the shining words within.

Poetry

Shaken, not stirred.

We’re two sides of the same coin,

individually an image, combined a complete person.

We could have gone forever not meeting one another,

blind to what we can see in a room of mirrors.

It took throwing caution up in the air

on a chance comment

to flip our perspectives

and finally see that we’ve always been just a short way apart,

the possibility of our friendship

slapping us in the face until we finally listened.

Poetry

Home

Where is home?

 

Is it the place you’ve always resided,

storing memories as well as old clothes,

decorations, exercise equipment adorned with drying washing,

a teaspoon left on the draining board

after a hastily made cuppa?

 

Or is it the place where the people you love

greet you every time you appear,

whether it’s for an hour

or a week?

A place where you can be who you are,

no holding back,

and be totally, completely, accepted.

 

Where blood is not necessary to feel part of the family,

only warm smiles,

several helpings of tender sarcasm

and words that always bring

lightness of step

whenever they’ve been uttered.

Poetry

Whispers

In my sleep I keep drowning;

throat filling with water and vision dimming.

I struggle into consciousness, to find

that I still can’t breathe.

The density of the clouds floating above is thick

enough to crush my spirit.

At least that’s what it feels like,

before I have chance to take in,

to consider

who and what,

where and why.

 

And I see you.

Not for the first time.

Not for the second, third, fourth

(I could continue, but you know where I’m headed)

My eyes have cleared of a fog long plaguing them,

you walk beside me in dreams and my reality.

Even though you rarely swim,

you never hesitate to rescue me

from the rushing waters continually

threatening to wash me away.

Poetry

Flower clippings

My heart is not a muscle,

it is a flower

blooming fully to catch every drip drop of sunlight it can

to help me stay nourished and grounded.

 

It attracts a lot of attention

and people often try to measure its petals,

guess what genus it is,

try to deceive it by pushing me into darkness.

 

They clip it, scrape it, startle it,

seek to tint it with rainbows of dye,

yet it refuses to wilt.

 

Yes, its petals may fall.

Yes, it may close at times.

But it will always open again

in the right environment.