Poetry

Fishing Net

The barrage comes hard,

I’m forced down to the depths of my own emotions

every time we discuss it.

I’m caught in the rewind

while clawing up at the future, the now.

It will take years

to peel off every layer of doubt I’ve accumulated,

every word that the self-proclaimed judge and jury

have balanced on my shoulders.

But I can always look into your eyes.

My moonlight

in the starless night.

Poetry

Orienteering

Can we find our way

without following the carefully plotted routes of other people’s maps?

If our compass doesn’t point North,

but to somewhere else entirely?

 

If we take each step

hand in hand,

ignoring the suggestions fed to us from all sides

and being ourselves,

then our path may be as solid or fluid

as we like.

 

We won’t always have a destination.

But we’ll always have the journey.

Poetry

Wiped clean

There are times I look up and find the sky absent. The screen is off, no background to display. My hands immediately try to find the power button, encased in cardboard boxes filled with drippings of life. I suspect moisture is making the circuit trip up like a gangly teen with flapping shoelaces. But I can never bring myself to tear out the heart to have a look. Maybe I’m just too soft. Or maybe, there’s actually a part of me that enjoys the absence overhead.

Poetry

The Eager and the Patient

When the door opens

Out bounds

The bumbling bundle of bouncing energy

Wagging its tail

With flaming, eager, sightless eyes.

Uncontrollable happy smiles

Brim from its jowls

Demanding cuddles.

 

Behind, the experienced one sits

Keen gaze fixed on the attention

The blind bundle receives.

Foolish. Untrained. Impulsive.

But sometimes worth indulging

In a game of tug o’ war.

Part of the family now,

After all.