Poetry

Fastened

It’s never too much for you to hear my thoughts.

Never too much to meet me in the gaps of the day,

even though you are pulled around on puppet strings

and often made to dance through the night;

kept away from the family loop no matter how hard you try

to seek a way back in.

I, in turn, will always listen to even the darkest parts of your mind,

caring not what hour it is, even if the witches are out.

What matters to me is you know

I’m not going anywhere,

my feet are sewn to the same path as yours

by my own hand,

a stitch that can never be cut.

Poetry

My Future

I bump into my past all the time.

Taking clothes out of the washing machine,

rinsing out the bath,

entering the bedroom on the right.

It greets me in the morning, and bids good night in the evening.

Standing there, chest bared

and open

as I once looked forward to.

But now all I can see is you.

Your shape, your silhouette,

your smile, your giggle.

Your kind face and sincere eyes,

your waterfall of hair.

Every so often, my past catches me by surprise

and I wonder if it’s going to keep me captive.

I know what might have been, and what was

only last year.

It’s not what I want now. Not where my heart has stayed.

My heart is only looking forward,

a future linked with yours.

Dungarees and messy hair,

lazy afternoons tinkering with puzzles,

mugs of tea and glasses of pink lemonade.

Gentle hugs, firmer holds.

Delicate kisses, and some more bold.

And all the laughter we can spare.

Poetry

The Pirate King

Riding along

the rushing seas,

sword in hand,

the Pirate King steals

everything he sees.

 

He doesn’t care

whose jewels he takes,

he bundles them up

and locks them away,

careful that none are fake.

 

He takes the gold

from foreign ships

along with bottled spices,

piles of dyed silks

and fruit from exotic pips.

 

He dances ahead of those

who would capture him,

they can’t keep up,

even with full sail

their chances are slim.

 

Forever and always

he’ll sail the ocean,

fighting off enemies

and plundering islands

for wonderous tokens.

Poetry

Our sweet fortress

We build up walls

to hide our little cocoon

of love,

with brightly woven  threads

woven into a snug blanket

and a casing of polished ebony.

The heat of the sun warms us

as time passes,

grasses grow up around us

and wildflowers bloom year after year.

Our hands are constantly entwined,

and will be

until they are hands no more.