Poetry

Set Sail

Are they eyes or suckers

that latch onto us as we sail

across the jewel-glint oceans in search of new land?

We look to the horizon,

only hands of salt sparkles greet us,

but we can feel it beyond.

It has a pulse, a thrum,

that even the deepest depths cannot hide

from knowing ears.

The claws that may once have gripped us

have become cracked and dry,

brittle enough to break at a single touch,

and our boat is the ramming kind now.

Poetry

Response to the Dead Poets Society

If you squash them,

if you bend them,

if you project your face onto theirs,

their minds will break:

reflections shattered, a mass of cracks and holes

where a person should be.

Their bodies will rot, bulge, blacken, weep.

Kindling that longs to ignite

if only to prove that it has some self-worth left.

And at the end of it,

still it will not be your name you see,

but theirs, as it only ever could.

You failed them,

yet stand where they still should.

Poetry

Overflow

I’ll hold up the spoon to feed you

letting the syrup spill over the sides

to fountain down to the spoon below

catching and spilling, catching and spilling

a movement, motion, continual flowing

but the nectar will reach you in the end

it can only be controlled so many times

before it makes its escape and delivers to you

the hope that you dared wish be allowed free

Poetry

The Unknown

They polished the scaled armour with orange peel every evening. The citrus scent repelling the taste of blood and earth residing in each crease. The overlapping plates fish-like, never one colour for more than a moment. Inside, the body was still human. Just. It preferred oranges to iron, whatever its brain might say.

Poetry

Elemental Hunter (inspired by The Witches of the Glass Castle by Gabriella Lepore)

With clouds of dust about my feet

I gaze at you, my prize so neat.

I reach up and take your chin,

my nails pierce your dimpled skin.

The roaring of blood in my ears

enables me to look past your tears.

You turn your mouth from my lips

ignoring the wind that starts to whip.

Come now, darling, don’t you see?

You were the one who came looking for me.

I am a Hunter and you are my prey,

next time, stay out of the forest’s way.

 

Poetry

Aunt Maria: A reflection

We mustn’t walk out that door. Not yet, see.

They might still be there. Or even worse, we might.

Keep out of sight. Timing is everything.

Don’t tell me you’ve forgotten the rules already.

Tap tap. Hear that noise? It’s her again.

Let’s ignore her. See how she likes it.

Drowned out, background noise.

Like a buzz. A Queen Bee, I should say.

We’re not trapped in her hive anymore.

We can’t be managed.

I feel smug that she knows.

Poetry

Patchwork

The days have been cut

into little square sheets

and knitted together with swathes

of cloud and typewriter ribbons.

A soft blanket with starched,

crisp edges to snuggle down into.

The only way those calloused

anxieties at the sudden lack of order

can be paled into beads of frost

that only thaw when thoroughly warmed.

Poetry

Creature Unknown

The hand on my face presses down, sliding its fingers into my gills. No oxygen, no screaming, I suppose it thinks. My mouth proves otherwise. I have teeth, I have lungs, I have a voice that belts out an alert to all around me. There is a creature here wanting to crush you. It’s got me. Stay back, else it will get you, too.

Poetry

Loud voices

Overhead, the tannoy begins

its daily screech

calling on the broken people

to give up their reach.

Pulling the clouds back

across the brightening sky

and drumming in orders

mimicking the buzzing of a fly.

“Bring out the ear plugs,

let’s deaden the sound!”

Someone shouts

circling the round.

At first, the response is dull,

little more than a whisper,

then the idea pops open

in their minds like a blister.

The movement surges,

a road is paved;

a future awaits where

they might all be saved.