Poetry

Pebbles

The stones are cool against my skin as the tide draws away

to leave them raw. Skitter, the drag comes.

It tries to take me with it, but I am planted firm,

my hair rooting into the shore.

I am solid, I am grounded, breathing a concept

I no longer need. The salt in my tears

from eons of watching sunsets and rises

crystalises into my imprint. I’ll remain for eternity,

even if I join the sand.

Poetry

Out of Us

The cage rattles as the shrieks fill it up,

over-spilling the ribs to the point of cracking.

Look up,

look UP.

Don’t sink to the riverbed,

resurface and gasp for air.

Ignore the temptation

to sprint past go

until you’ve no go left.

Grip the safety line being thrown to you,

you know it’ll never be forced away.

You know you can’t push it away.

Poetry

Thrum

My heart is racing,

it’s whirring,

a whirligig of flesh mechanics

all turning a deaf ear

to my will.

The sensible noggin

commanding my body to see reason

searching through every cause

and evening the pH.

It doesn’t work.

Oxygen helps, it’s true. So does quiet.

The dark.

But it’s your eyes

seeking, calm

that settle it.

 

Poetry

Gripped

It’s in the touch that we can find ourselves,

find our solid state once more

and stop the wisps of identity

being sucked away.

 

Whether it’s a switch

flicked back and forth,

or the feel of a friend’s hand,

it can bring us back.

 

Yet what if you’re barred from doing so?

What if the search lights come on

and leach away your freedom?

What then?

 

Do we find another means,

or do we let

ourselves drift away, voices and thoughts

silenced forever?

Poetry

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.

Poetry

Into the fog

The fog on the bathroom mirror covers my face,

coating it in a weariness I can normally only see inside.

Droplets run down;

tears I cannot shed.

My mouth is a watery line,

anxious and unsure of who I am.

 

Then you come in and open the window.

The glass clears as you lean against me,

easing my expression to a soft grin

as the warmth seeping from every inch of you

fills my heart.

Poetry

Unexpected things

Today I was sitting in the lap of a tree

watching the world go by:

 

I saw a girl reach up and try to pluck a star

from the sky with her fingers,

as though gently nipping a bud.

 

I saw a prowling cat masquerading

as a gnarled root eyeing up

the darting squirrels and the birds.

 

I saw a giant woman falling from a waterfall,

she was the waterfall, arching back, arms outstretched

to dangle her fingertips in the lake.