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Poetry

Set aside

There are rocks at my feet,

all folded and crumpled,

fossilised words of untold errors.

Lists filling scrolls lie about the room,

checking for correct procedures

and slips in elegant form.

Tirelessly, I work through the night

organising scores

to serve as light music to others

who dream

of shelves of paper notes

holding keys to doors

hidden from most.

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Poetry

The Bard

Each word is the gateway for another,

pathways opening whenever his tongue runs wild.

Flashes of white,

a grin that never falters

when he’s around me, even when the dark eats us up.

Every motion

has three words embedded in it,

a hallmark of our life and the future

we can’t know

yet will never fail to see.

Droplets of his thoughts cascade around us:

wetting the earth, the air

and refreshing the stale thoughts

clogging up my mind.

I cannot predict his tales,

and I do not wish to.

His muse is always keen to listen,

treading his rambling steps wherever they lead.

Poetry

Paper Mate

Folded notes can flit about on the page,

bundling together to make a whole,

but the secrets will still be trapped inside.

Scaled, segmented.

 

The waves of your hands

swirl and eddy as you rush to conceal

the struggling words,

hushing them away forever.

 

But words are meant to be spoken.

Silken rivers of them, flowing

off the tongue like lava from a recent eruption.

 

The folded notes pulse, a heartbeat

that you long to ignore

because it’s your own,

but can’t ignore.

Because it’s your own.

 

One day it will all unfold on you.

Your life unravelled and examined

down to the faintest fingerprint

on the glass tumbler

you use every night to rinse your mouth.

 

Removing the aftertaste of bitterness

that has worn you down

inch by inch

over the sepia tones of your life.

 

The sepia that could have been lifted

by tending to that single bright rose

that you left to wilt

in the burning sun and stinging winds.

Poetry

Us.

A flick of the fingers,

a twist of the path,

a flutter of pages

and an eruption of laughs.

 

A silk woven waistcoat,

a shuffle of cards,

a smile in your eyes,

and a melting of shards.

 

A morning of rambles,

a jump to the start,

a hand offered in friendship

and a wide, open heart.

 

A letter of truth,

an evening of reading,

a tear of happiness

and a stop to the bleeding.

 

 

Poetry

Butterfly Nets

I recall the shine of your teeth in the dark

as you smile at me

in a moment of snatched privacy.

Outside, the stars hang high

though the moon has hidden itself under a duvet of clouds.

Whispers of the breeze

rustle off our clothes as we speak of future adventures

when time doesn’t have to be caught

with butterfly nets

and the key in my pocket will be ours,

not mine.

Poetry

Night Lights

Snap! Go the fingers,

summoning a swirling, curving, whirling

mass of colour

around the feet well travelled.

 

Calloused hands link together

as the dance begins,

a lively jig of forest sprites, glow-worm bright

against the night.

 

The crickets sing, violin strokes,

The sighing breath of sparkling eyes

soars up towards the turning skies,

heart a thump, dervish motion,

drinking deep a blissful laugh.