Poetry

Fossil Hunting

The door to shut the world off

is much lighter than the one to open it up.

Vulnerability is covered by a heavy cloak;

sharing your innermost self is difficult

when those feelings have already begun to fossilize.

 

So when someone appears to sift

through the layers of rock with gentle fingers,

letting them find you is daunting.

Emotions that you long thought had filtered away

spring back,

 

filling you up so much

that they tip you off balance and send you tumbling

into the rock pool, sprawling among schools of uncertainty

and trying to find a way out

that won’t crush the gentle life within

 

but also

won’t cut you and open old wounds.

Yet the hand that found you

won’t let you pull away and hide in the dark;

it challenges you to stay and observe,

to find a way of gaining your footing

even when all sides present a challenge.

 

Poetry

Splice

If my heart was a jigsaw puzzle, every

piece would be a different colour, and

there would be more than one way to fit it together.

Some days the greens would take centre stage,

the days when I’m doing what I love and spending time

with those I love. Warm, cosy, satisfied.

Then on days when I’m alone, but still content,

blues and aquamarines would drift in and nestle neatly,

peaceful days spent in a book or in the woods.

Reds and oranges for those anxious, frustrating times,

and then yellow, my least favourite of all,

barging in at the most inappropriate of times

to bring me down into a world of doubt, depression, decline.

But I have to remember, all it takes to shift it

is a simple switch of the pieces.