Poetry

Chrono Surfers

1.

Morning shines on my eyelids,

and still your arms

are clasped around me.

The whole night, you didn’t

let go.

 

And the smile you give me is even brighter

than the evening before.

 

2.

In my dreams, you’re always present.

Mostly observing, there if I need you.

Yet a solid form none the less.

 

3.

I see your silhouette

on the horizon, glowing

with otherworldly light.

I laugh.

We have no need for pedestals.

We are who we are,

even more so when we’re together.

 

4.

We don’t compromise.

We ignite.

 

Not content with simply riding time’s waves,

but making them.

 

Set to our own rules,

no pathways blocked.

Poetry

Step to it

Beneath our feet in the coils of carpet

full of dander, paper fibres and pollen,

past the underlay thick as a pinky finger,

the floorboards warped to become musical notes

when stepped on, down

into the foundations

is a pulse. A beat.

A rhythmic tap of a dancer’s shoes,

the drum of fingers on a worktop,

a family getting into a car and shutting the doors

one after another.

When the house is empty,

the beat stops.

A light in the unoccupied spare bedroom switches on.

Click.

Poetry

Ripples

A ripple in a glass of water

can never leave the glass.

Yet if the glass ever cracks,

the water can push against it,

working away to force an opening.

Even if the gap it makes is only

wide enough for a trickle to escape,

sometimes that trickle is all that’s needed.

Seeping across the table,

weaving its way through discarded cutlery,

crusted salt and pepper pots

and past dusty, fine china plates

to the edge, where droplets form

ready to drip into the dry soil

filling the plant pot below.

The fresh seeds lying in wait

beneath the surface

will finally get

their spark of life.