Poetry

Rushing Rivers

Dawn. We kiss, say our

good mornings.

You, the boy who is my best friend,

listen carefully to the account of my dreams.

Sometimes,

night terrors.

You know where parts come from, just as I do.

You know me,

inside and out, like

the motions you use cutting and shuffling cards,

except without the years of practice

yet at the same time

a lifetime of listening and observing.

We get ready for work,

the day ahead planned and uncertain.

We are a tag team, a cassette tape and pencil.

Together, nothing can keep us down.

Poetry, Uncategorized

Overture

Evening draws in,

the half-moon observes

your passage home.

Hours drip by heavy,

oil falling in water.

Unmixed, always a separate entity

to those wandering past.

Cigarette butts on the ground

avoiding the traps especially set

on waste bins.

The smell of energy drinks

left on the bus two seats down

marring the truest scent

of night.

Door unlocked, house is silent.

Signs of life everywhere

that need to be tidied before morning.

Before mourning.

Of what might have been.

Not of what is.

The aftertaste of what is

is natural,

no added sugar.

Poetry

Midnight dream

This time the dancing bears circle around the sun,

while the stags haunt the moon,

fleeing from the horns of the wild hunt.

The air shatters, clouds move in like ships

coming into port; great hulking cargos

unloading the spirits who holiday

so gaily, submerged under the bath of stars.

Poetry

Two Hearts

The heart on a pillow of sunshine

leans across to speak

to the heart under a cover of shade,

wrapped firmly from all light

by woven clouds.

It pumps bold colour down

onto the humid sheets,

tie-dyeing them with rainbows.

The heart under a cover of shade

rolls over. ‘Colour is meaningless

when my eyes only see grey,’ it says.

The heart on the pillow of sunshine

smiles. ‘Then let me show you how

the colours feel, instead.’