Poetry

Trauma

it’s a shadow in my brain

a lurking, creeping, whispering thing

that doesn’t shy from light

but swallows it

if I do nothing

if I do nothing

if I do nothing

it will block me in. block, block, block

if I step into it, let it feed off me

and find my blood is its poison

my pulse is its poison

my heart is its poison. beat, beat, beat

it will shrivel up

and become nothing more than a stamp-sized portrait

reminding me that it rules

no longer

a memo note

it happened, it happened

but still I can stride

 

Poetry

Peach Stone

1.

Inside, it’s cold. The density

causes ice to vomit from my mouth,

fingernails blue up to the cuticles.

If I were to examine my chest,

open my flesh and push apart my ribs,

would I see a ball of obsidian

or a fleshy, ripe peach?

 

2.

With you, the limbs of the tree are always

bent with fruit

no matter if the middle of winter

grasps at its bark. Soft, plump, nourishing.

I can always pick how much I want,

cook it up and make sweet crumble

to warm our bellies.

 

 

Poetry

Grimlock

Me, Grimlock

I can take all of you on

shoulder force, jaw ready

No problem I can’t smash away

 

Me, Grimlock

I can be on your side

watch me crunch, watch me maul

I’m the behemoth you want

 

Me, Grimlock

I’ve got nothing to hide

I’ll bare my teeth, eyes glowing

Tell me your war stories

or I’ll spin some for you

 

Me, Grimlock

I’ll seek you out

You can’t match my strength

rough or not, your meagre force

won’t survive very long

 

 

Poetry

They Come

The moon is out and with it come

the calls of the Wild Hunt. Do not

stand frightened if you see them. Gwyn ap Nudd

at their head will rally them away

unless you were to sneak into the rings only

those foolish enough not to believe in his forests

enter. I know you won’t, you wouldn’t

be so brazen as to think the roots,

the soil, the trees are for your own use

and pleasure. Listen, can you

hear them? They come.

Poetry

No drawing board

Sometimes I feel like the fish

from Fantasia sashaying in all mysteriously

and then others I feel

like the mop Mickey hacks apart

trying to clear up his mess

 

Then my reflection

without bursting into song

tells me I am me

and I don’t have to be mysterious and distant

or used until I’m not wanted

 

I can stand on proud

muscular legs

and answer when I want to answer

talk if I wish to talk

and be silent if I don’t

without apology

Poetry

A bard’s touch

I took my heart out of its familiar cage and realised

the rose quartz it was carved from had turned clear.

I watered it with food dye and rose petals,

patience and strawberry jam.

It refused to change back.

 

You noticed this distilling and saw my distress,

examining its mineral structure to suggest

things that might return its colour.

 

It worked, but instead of becoming rose,

it morphed permanently from quartz

into the deepest ruby.

The same carat as your heart.

Poetry

Turning the handle

You say I swept out the cobwebs from your mind,

chased away the critters nesting

in the corners, darkening them

until the room became a prison, insular

and draining.

But you were the one who kept the door open

when it threatened to close

just so I could take shelter from the storm

chasing me.