Poetry

Small Cares

 

Why do you hang your head

so low, my pet?

You may only be the size

of a snow drop or crocus,

and a puddle may appear

as a small lake to you,

but why is that a sad thing?

Think of all you can

see and hear

that no other can.

Observe the flowers as they first emerge,

seek the moment they reach for the sun!

See the bees buzzing back to their homes

and help them carry their bags of pollen.

Listen to the secrets of dormice

and ask to fly on the backs of butterflies.

Sleep in the shade of a snail’s shell,

be carried by a team of worker ants.

But most of all, my pet: live!

Poetry

Said the man to the King

Said the man to the King

(whilst concealing a grin):

Rolls of fabric, neat and trim

shroud your holy, pale skin.

Silver thread stitched thickly

around collar and sleeve, strictly

the finest for this work of art;

certainly, Sire, you’ll look the part.

It’s magic, I confess,

to help weed out those who are less

than intelligent at court,

it’ll be a game, a sport,

for the dim witted cannot see

these garments made by me!

 

Said the King to the man

(though he was panicked by the plan,

for in fact he could not see

the clothes supposedly reaching his knees):

What cleverness, sir, you’ve shown,

I would truly never have known

that a charm could be used

to seek out those who have abused

their position by my side,

but now they cannot hide!

 

And so the next day,

to the townsfolk’s dismay,

the King held a parade,

and a declaration he made

that any who claimed

his robes not to be, shamed

themselves and should admit

their serious lack of wit.

Yet among the mutterings

and unsure shuffling

a hum of laughter did climb

at the sight of the King’s bare behind!

Poetry

Grey

If you’re grey on the outside,

are you grey on the inside, too?

 

Forever a colour

that is not a colour?

Neither bright, nor dull

but a fluffy, half-formed

substance in-between?

 

A blur of identity,

an endless game of cat

and mouse,

see-sawing up and down,

with the fear of staying

who you are

at one end,

and the fear of

becoming someone new

at the other.

 

If you’re grey on the inside,

are you grey on the outside, too?

 

Poetry

Ice on Lips (draft)

The splitting of the glass caused the earth

to cry out; caused the earth to cry out

with the agony of the darkest mottles

taking root in hearts and eyes,

framed into windows and tailored spectacles.

A vision of wrinkles, dark splotches cast

into marbled nature, now teach warped

learning to craft cunning thoughts.

Caught! The attention of ice, snowflakes

skitter down, plucking a kiss from

the lips of her cunning prey, wrapping

cool breath tightly about to mask

the journey through frozen skies.