Poetry

New Habits

They form over months, subtle and sneaky,

habits we’ve picked up by merging so sweetly.

 

Checking ingredients without a second thought,

carrying a full deck of cards just in case they’re sought.

 

Clothes cleaned and ironed for an overnight stay,

fried eggs swapped for part of the other’s breakfast: a good start to the day.

 

One bathing, one readying the bed,

one solving puzzles, one having just read.

 

Phone calls and messages each day we’re apart,

‘I love you’ said often but not so much that it loses its spark.

Poetry

Us.

A flick of the fingers,

a twist of the path,

a flutter of pages

and an eruption of laughs.

 

A silk woven waistcoat,

a shuffle of cards,

a smile in your eyes,

and a melting of shards.

 

A morning of rambles,

a jump to the start,

a hand offered in friendship

and a wide, open heart.

 

A letter of truth,

an evening of reading,

a tear of happiness

and a stop to the bleeding.

 

 

Poetry

A serving of shells and gems

On the table in the quiet inn

are spent bullets, spelling out the words

‘You are empty’.

You stare at them;

everyone you’ve spoken to before

seems to reinforce

the message as true.

 

Then in the palm of your hand

a warmth spreads out to your fingertips.

You look up to see the barmaid

grinning at you mysteriously, motioning to wave your hand

over the bullets.

 

You do so,

and before your eyes

they turn into gems

polished so brightly

that their brilliance overshadows

all the scars the bullets left on your skin.

 

‘You gave me this power?’ you ask the maid.

‘No,’ she replies,

‘it was yours to begin with.’

Poetry

And here we are

The scum around the bath is easily scrubbed away,

the ceramic clean enough to be white again.

Paint tins, brushes, rollers –

evidence of our romp with the walls

clear for any onlooker. Sweet sugared soap

purges away the grime of long life,

Artex to mask the imbalance. Spongy bounce

under our feet. That’s more like it.

Spread our toes to feel the pile. New.

Home at last.