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.

Poetry

Clouds with Wings

I stroll down the path,

well trodden, like the ones

your feet automatically follow even when you’re not thinking where you’re going and suddenly find

a sharp turn;

you’ve arrived at your destination.

Yet this time,

I turn and find myself not

at the big, towering structure of work,

but stepping onto a white fluff

that spreads great feathered wings and lifts me up

high.

The wind whips my hair around,

obscuring my vision,

then it clears and I’m chasing dandelion seeds

across the skyline.

A V of birds passes nearby,

I wave at them,

wishing them luck in their new land.

My winged cloud plummets;

I wonder where it might stop.

It doesn’t stop at all.

The ground rushes up, but I pass through it

into a dark, warm cocoon

of blankets and hot water bottles.

I realise I’m holding my breath.

I release it, along with my cosy shield

and find my feet

have stopped

right where they should.

Poetry

The Dragon Tree

On a rock

far out in the ocean, sits

a tree.

Its trunk is

sturdy, like the

very rock itself.

And for good reason.

Instead of lush, flowing leaves adorning delicate branches that drift

to and fro

in the wind,

there are dragons.

Small, scaled balls of energy

with wings.

Their span is but a foot,

but the underside of those mighty beaters

shimmers like a plate of

mother-of-pearl.

Gripping the branches with

wrinkled, long-clawed toes,

the dragons feast on

tangy sap, ready to

take to the evening sky

for their task of catching the smokey, iridescent tears

of the moon

to fertilize the tree’s hungry roots.