We see this heart and home,
smell its familiarity on each other
as if we’ve already moved in.
The post is delivered to your eyes and mine.
Our names are stout roots that weave themselves together
to become the key that opens the door.
Tag: belonging
Homely House
Strolling side by side, all together;
a family of yours
is a family of mine.
Laughing at jokes outsiders wouldn’t get
even if they spent an hour listening.
Because we are from the same pit of clay,
just a year apart and
different blood in our veins.
The path we’re on we will always walk,
speaking our minds
and always comfortable with each other’s thoughts.
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.
Endless Days
The wind loops around my hands
playfully
nudging me onward, carrying the scent
of unexplored forests, coastal paths and caverns,
endless fields of wheat and corn and barley, meadows
full of wild flowers, that,
if I’m honest, may just make me sneeze.
I can feel the peace rifling through my hair and gently resting
its soft palms against my face.
My heart beats in time with the swell of the sea,
the calls of the birds
and the leisurely flutter of butterflies completely unaware
of how much an impact their wing-beats make.
The scurrying of people doesn’t bother me here.
I am home,
I am home,
I am home.
Groundskeeper
We live in a world where everything
is on display, a constant waving of flags
we don’t even realise we’re holding.
And in it, all I want to do
is move away, find a quiet,
cosy area
and have it as my own personal space.
There are times when I start to succeed
and fit it with neat trellis
full of climbing roses and honeysuckle,
vibrant and sweet
in a way that doesn’t overload my brain.
Yet, inevitably, it seems,
there is always someone who trips and falls,
flattening the entire thing –
or worse, those who come charging in deliberately
and smash it to pieces
so small and sharp
that I have to start again from scratch.
But even in times when I’m standing in this mess of debris,
I always welcome the gentle call of a friend
who knows they need not ask to come in because they have a key,
yet always do so anyway.
They take my hand,
tenderly, respectfully
and help me sweep the mess away.
Treeshallow Musings 