Poetry

Symptoms

The catch in my throat

cannot decide if it’s there because I have hayfever

or because I have to wave you goodbye for now.

Same with the ache in my head

and the water at my eyes.

In one case, I’m not myself for a while.

In the other, I’m only functioning at half capacity.

The remaining half…

well, that followed you.

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

A funny thing, hindsight.

I didn’t know you’d be there for me.

I didn’t know that you’d see the things every one else missed,

help me without thinking,

come to stand beside me when I needed to stay grounded.

 

I didn’t know how much you would help me.

I didn’t know how much I would help you.

 

I didn’t know I’d bring you back to yourself.

I didn’t know I was the only one you’d share your deepest thoughts with,

be the inspiration for the words coming from your heart,

be trusted with your past, present and future.

 

I didn’t know any of this.

But if I could tell my past self it would happen,

I wouldn’t.

I’d stay quiet, and let her experience it all fresh,

gently strolling

hand in hand with you

on this adventure that’s still going.

 

Poetry

Arms

Arms that wrap, tight, safe

fingers holding firm on shoulders.

Massaging tired body, mind

release from the daily hounding.

Even if it’s just for a moment, less than a minute,

a second snatched in a silent room,

a quiet corner free from the hungry

crowd of nattering, gossiping, whispering

eyes that see much

yet nothing at all.

A hug

they think.

A promise

we say.

Poetry

Declaration

I like how our fingers latch

when our hands stray close to each other.

There’s no question, no uncertainty.

They just link,

mirroring the chain binding our hearts.

 

When words fail,

and they always do when we most want them,

a touch serves as well.

 

It’s an answer. An agreement.

An ‘I’ll stand beside you no matter what

you tell me, what emotions you let out

or what sadness you let in’

contract.

 

And it’s for life.

Poetry

Colours of life

Long have tapestries been woven to tell tales.

Thread expertly chosen to depict every detail,

dyes richly combined

to bring forth the imagery.

Clear, neat, refined.

 

Silvertongues have learnt to weave tapestries with words.

Audiences spend hours listening

in suspense, enthralled by the daring twists at play.

 

Poets do the same, but set down their words

so the tapestries may be admired time and time again.

 

When Silvertongues and poets gather,

such is the intensity

that the air fills with the colour of life.

Each a muse to the other,

they walk hand in hand,

bonded at last to oversee the ripples

they couldn’t help but create.

Poetry

Chrono Surfers

1.

Morning shines on my eyelids,

and still your arms

are clasped around me.

The whole night, you didn’t

let go.

 

And the smile you give me is even brighter

than the evening before.

 

2.

In my dreams, you’re always present.

Mostly observing, there if I need you.

Yet a solid form none the less.

 

3.

I see your silhouette

on the horizon, glowing

with otherworldly light.

I laugh.

We have no need for pedestals.

We are who we are,

even more so when we’re together.

 

4.

We don’t compromise.

We ignite.

 

Not content with simply riding time’s waves,

but making them.

 

Set to our own rules,

no pathways blocked.

Poetry

Bleed

In order to know someone,

bleeding yourself out into a cup

and letting them drink it down

is sometimes the only way.

It lets them taste the salt in your wounds

and the nectar in your view

of the intricacies of life,

spinning and turning

through every step you’ve taken

to reach this point.

Let them see your shackles, your restraints,

and trust them

when even if they say they don’t have the power to break them,

they can still aid you

as you rid them yourself.

It may take decades, aeons,

a million fractals of your stitched and glued and re-stitched heart,

but they’ll be there through all of it.

Just give them opportunity to take that first sip.

Poetry

Drop your guard

When you stand before someone

exactly as you are,

no armour, no shield,

and still have the courage to look into their eyes –

you are strong.

You are raw, and you are real.

And when you let them do the same,

with no judgement,

understanding dawns for both of you.

You might be scared,

but opening chests that have long rusted shut

was never going to be easy.

All you can do is be the net

to catch each other

as your whole spills forth

and slips through your fingers.