Poetry

Reawakening

It’s a firecracker with karate oomph.

 

No lace involved at this point.

No webs spun, no leaf skeletons

to be collected, analysed, stamped.

 

It took a while to create the right mix

of mineral and powder,

testing and re-testing until the colours were held high,

shouting, ‘we are to return to our maiden voyage.

We are to return

to the sea and its torrents, its salt and seaweed

and the lights of anglerfish in its belly.

 

We are to fight the storms and ride them through

until the calm

spreads her fingers across the surface

and we find the land

we’ve always searched for

bit could never find until now.

 

The homeland of our hearts,

where our roots can be unwrapped

from their protective cloth

and left to spread as they wish.

 

 

 

 

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

An evening stroll

We have our cast of characters now; moorhens, geese, gatekeepers, holly blues. There, a twitch of whisker, a puff of white cotton-tail. The wind bending the rushes with a twist of its little finger. Can you feel the scene being set? The water ripples as a pair of ducks land. A mouse runs across my boot and moths fly up as I shake their precious hiding places with my clumsy tread. Light gleams over, giving my hair fire. My cheeks are pinched red as evening sets in.

Poetry

Crusty rolls and glass soda bottles

Blue. In my mouth, on my tongue.

Ice, salt and small

creatures that wriggle together to form limbs.

An eye enlarged by remnants

of a green beer bottle,

no longer sharp. Its threat dead.

Laughter from the sand,

sandwiches full of it.

Water filtered through a straw hat

to make a mirror pool.

Ears full, yet deaf.

Poetry

Open your eyes

Fire climbs up my flesh,

seeping through my pores –

my veins are charged

with impulse.

The ledge of the world is before me.

I step up and finally

see the vastness beyond.

Coiled, my knees spring

to launch

my body down.

I ride the air’s waterfall;

I don’t fear the fall.

Someone will catch me.

They always do.

And if that fails, my shoulders

will ignite with ember-flower wings

to carry me back

where I belong.