Poetry

Take off

My wings spread, feathers brushing the dust away from the flight path. Goggles down, I cast my gaze ahead and jump. Wind tears at me; a gale. It flurries up, causing my momentum to surge off course. The tick of the second hand on my pocket watch counts the moments I plunge down — the sound a boom, cannon blasts in my head. The updraft catches me in her firm hold, clasping me tight against her bosom, correcting my flight. She deposits me on the take off platform where I started, urging me to try again. We all have to fly by ourselves at some point.

Poetry

End of day

Evening comes – no, midnight –

and the cogs are finally coloured to a shine,

placed inside the casing of my heart

as the rest of my body, weary

from the day’s high, erratic strings

winds down into standby mode.

 

Tick, whirr, beat.

Tick. Whirr. Beat.

Tick… whirr… beat…

Poetry

Off Beat

‘Did someone pull you by the hand?’

you ask.

 

‘No,’ I answer. ‘My heart discovered

it was beating a different rhythm

to the one it thought it beat.

 

It was shocked, angry at itself

and guilty when it discovered that no matter how hard it tried,

it couldn’t find the melody it’d lost.

 

The new one was too strong,

too wild, too free and

too accepting of itself.’

 

‘And of the heart

whose rhythm it once matched?’

 

‘It beats still, sound and capable,

ready to find another

to fall into sync with.

 

Mild and honest, it will always

be true to its owner.’

Poetry

Calcified

You find it on the hearth, a tiny thing,

still a flutter beneath the calcified outer.

The warmth inside has faded to a simple prickle

that decreases every moment.

 

How did it get there, who cast it aside

to continue on their life without it,

hoping to never feel the pain and uncertainty that love can bring,

while forgetting how their view of everything

becomes just that little bit brighter for it?

 

You cradle it, unwanted heart,

hold it close to your own so it can share your heat,

build up a rhythm to restore its strength.

 

You guide it until it can beat on its own

and then let it make its way

back to the world

where it can find that reason to glow again.

Poetry

Spin Time

Circle the sun: your heart, your head.

Catch the vortex around your neck;

squeeze it, control it.

 

Ride the motion – you are not trapped,

throw the hoop away if it starts to shackle,

grip it tight and pizza-toss it high.

 

Don’t be afraid of the spiral,

let the spiral be afraid of you.

Poetry

Unwrap

I’m handed a ball-shaped mass of paper.

Glitter bows and silver pen all over.

Sometimes the small things that are inside

count more, you say. Unwrap it. You’ll see.

Wire cage under the paper. Hanging

from the top, five metal balls. Newton’s cradle.

Tick, pass centre, tick.  Like my heart.

Like your heart. Beats passing back and forth.

Momentary silence between them, but

always an answer in the end.

Poetry

Two Hearts

The heart on a pillow of sunshine

leans across to speak

to the heart under a cover of shade,

wrapped firmly from all light

by woven clouds.

It pumps bold colour down

onto the humid sheets,

tie-dyeing them with rainbows.

The heart under a cover of shade

rolls over. ‘Colour is meaningless

when my eyes only see grey,’ it says.

The heart on the pillow of sunshine

smiles. ‘Then let me show you how

the colours feel, instead.’