Poetry

Unnecessary measurements

If we were to measure each other out as ingredients on silver scales,

the balance would be so perfectly held

it would look like the scales had rusted solid.

Then we’d spend all afternoon discussing why scales

with such precise measurements

are unnecessary for the conversion rates of our brains,

shooting off into zesty tangents

until we finally agree that the setting sun is a sign

we should stroll off and get some sleep.

Poetry

Those lost fauna

I can step into the shadows of their skin and feel

the warmth bound through me,

the earthy closeness of those burrowed days

nostalgic and pure.

The rains come and nourish the ground,

and when the skies clear to leave me

alone on the grass,

I whisper their names to keep them alive

for another year.

Poetry

Candy land

Let’s imagine that clouds taste like candyfloss

and grass is mint.

Bright red post boxes are hard-boiled sweets

and sea spray is bursting blasts of bubble gum.

We could skate down hills of ice cream

and collect raindrops in their hundreds and thousands

only to stumble into a wall of cookies,

laughing as they crumble around us.

Poetry

A thousand

There was a time when revealing any part of ourselves

to others

was something neither of us

could ever do.

We liked to play with illusions and give them out freely,

a cheap ticket to the circus act

we wanted to emit,

concealing with flare and artful tongues

the decrepit conditions

behind the scenes.

But our painted smiles have been washed off,

scrubbed away

until only our blemished, ruddy cheeks remain.

We’ve gone au naturel,

and now our smiles for each other

hold as much power as a thousand

years could bring us.

Poetry

Grey Rainbows

Mountains rooted either side of my neck today,

watered by the grey clouds circling above.

The orange was mocking and overbearing,

a sour fruit

bereft of all zest.

It painted my mood with sepia,

and I worried it would stay that way,

conscious of what it may cause me to do.

But you were patient

and willing to overlook,

happy in the knowledge that I at least knew

what I was like

slumped against the day.

You brought rivers of music,

chestfuls of laughter

and an evening of family chatter and games.

The colours of myself returned

and wrapped me in a warm blanket

embroidered with pieces of your heart.

Poetry

Homely House

Strolling side by side, all together;

a family of yours

is a family of mine.

Laughing at jokes outsiders wouldn’t get

even if they spent an hour listening.

Because we are from the same pit of clay,

just a year apart and

different blood in our veins.

The path we’re on we will always walk,

speaking our minds

and always comfortable with each other’s thoughts.

Poetry

Butterfly Nets

I recall the shine of your teeth in the dark

as you smile at me

in a moment of snatched privacy.

Outside, the stars hang high

though the moon has hidden itself under a duvet of clouds.

Whispers of the breeze

rustle off our clothes as we speak of future adventures

when time doesn’t have to be caught

with butterfly nets

and the key in my pocket will be ours,

not mine.

Poetry

Home

Home is where we stand

facing the beams that hold us up.

We measure ourselves against walls and doors,

imprinting our personality

into dented paintwork and over-trafficked carpets.

We can inhabit alone,

or we can inhabit together.

Parents, siblings, friends, lovers

may move in or out,

furniture may dance together or shuffle apart,

but the foundations will always remain.