Powder puff

I stare out at the breeze lifting the fushia flowers from the plant, seeing

only fairies with puffy blossom skirts

and skinny legs dangling out beneath.

When they fall to the ground, I think, ‘Oops, there goes

another one who was too weighed down by her dress.’

Visions like this come often;

bursts of another world thrown

at me like powder at a colour festival.

I drink them up and let them buzz inside me for the rest of the day.

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Igneous

The heart stone is solid,

never fading.

Even in grey light

the complex shadows within

can always be summoned by the wielder

for reassurance,

showing every part of the spectrum

until calm has been restored.

Set in

There are crystals in my heart. Each fractal

a different fiery star

that brightens every time its moment comes.

As I swim against the current,

submerged fully into the overwhelming waters

of reality, these bursts of light

are split into colours that hiss and spit their intensity

into every passion I have.

 

Edges and acorns

The mountain doesn’t look like a mountain

when it’s all painted up with leaves and acorns

and leftover drops of sun.

It’s more an artwork on canvas,

something that I can appreciate but not feel squashed by.

It’s when it’s stark and white,

only its sharpness and jagged edges to display

that my head decides to landslide

and any progress I’ve made

erases itself until

the next leaf fall.

Rattled bones

It’s a lovely spring afternoon, so much fresh air!

Until I step outside for a quick nip to the shops:

humans doing human things everywhere.

 

A snarky conversation rolls by with a pram,

loud enough to be commandments –

I think I did see a tablet in their hands.

 

Cars zoom past on a racecourse I can’t see,

their colours all blurring into one

and a thunder juggling my insides around violently.

 

Then there’s the monster being fed parts of tree,

gobbling them up as tasty snacks

while its tamer looks upon its destruction blindly.

 

I admit I can’t fault the elderly chap mowing his lawn,

after all, the sun is out and the grass is dry,

but all combined this noise shatters me and leaves me drawn.

 

Such a journey may have been a simple quest in theory,

yet for me the price of undertaking it

meant spending the rest of the day dead weary.

The newness of it all

The rainbow gave birth

Pink wisps merging with opalite tears

At having finally released its heavy cargo.

There is no gold

There never was

Only the after image of a woman stepping free

After years of being locked in

Invisible chains.

Picture perfect

A lot of ground can be covered in a moment,

ink staining the cells with vibrant pigment;

imprints of days that will never fade

and smiles that will always bring joy to my heart.

You’ve watched me unfold and wash away

the paint that has sunk deep into my pores.

I’m stepping up into who I am,

not hiding away any longer.

There are parts that are blunt, insensitive and uninvolved.

There are parts that are curious, creative and full of love.

Intrigue, sass, laughter, empathy.

Or a void.

You take it all, see it all,

hold it all

because you’re holding me.

At the same time, I’m holding you,

so no matter how we step across the board,

we’re perfectly balanced,

perfectly in place to checkmate

everything that the future might throw at us.

Together. In time.

A dance we take until

the day we vanish.

Until the day we give our final kiss,

if anything about us

and the love that grips us

can even be final.

 

Sweep

The blackness that settles over roofs and fields

And rivers and lakes,

The edges of moors and pebbled beaches.

It is not a leach of colour,

It is a giver of substance.

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.

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How much would you pay for bottled love?

Hanging up on a market stall

like fairy lights, all twinkling away

in different colours.

 

Bright pink for that first crush, that first taste of romance.

Steady indigo for familial love, overriding all those arguments that ended in slammed doors and broken crockery.

Lush, meadow green for those best friends who have stood by you for years

and will do for many more,

possibly because they now know you too well for you to let them escape.

How about that deep crimson

for a person you wish to wake up to every day, forever?

 

The vendor rattles them all enthusiastically as you walk by,

making them dance about,

shouting about special offers for previous clients,

two for the price of one,

a complete returns policy if things don’t work out.

 

She dangles a handful of free samples in your face

and you can’t help but get caught up in the wonderful scent

of love

that threatens to stitch up all those wounds

forming your heart.

 

It’s tempting.

It is.

But it’s fake.

 

Manufactured for the vulnerable,

and I know you aren’t the type to buy into it.