Poetry

Recipe for moving

Step one:

Plant money seeds in pot. Research gingerbread recipes.

 

Step two:

Add feed to money seeds. Begin weighing out ingredients for gingerbread. Check against favourite recipe.

 

Step three:

Keep feeding and watering money seeds as they become seedlings. Mix gingerbread ingredients together. Stir well, taste-testing where necessary.

 

Step four:

Keep money seedlings safe as they mature. Pour gingerbread mix into wall- and roof-shaped tins and place in oven. Cook until fully risen.

(This step takes the longest.)

 

Step five:

Take out gingerbread parts to cool. Pick money plant leaves and grind into icing.

 

Step six:

Assemble gingerbread house using money plant icing. Use any excess money plant icing to decorate gingerbread house.

 

Step seven:

Plant more money seeds for use as icing to stop gingerbread house falling apart over time.

Poetry

Return

It travels, fire-tongued

through each cell, alight and intense

up into the wilderness that is your eyes.

Its pure crystalline intent

pasted with letters and notes of our future,

a flash of keys,

a suitcase label,

manuscript pages littering the floor among

scribbled workings of code.

The data is transferred in a single,

pulse-racing moment

as our lips touch finally after so long apart.

Poetry

Homemaker

I uncurl my toes from the carpet.

My stomach has a weight in it, cold

that rises to my throat.

It’s been there since this morning, after

I watched you hurry for the bus,

a smile lingering on your lips as I waved.

 

It only feels like home when you’re here.

When you’re not,

it’s just a place where I spend my time

running through the routines of life

without feeling I’m living any of it.

 

Home is where we will both be

in the future.

It’s hard not to jump forwards,

but rushing will only crumble

the blocks we’ve been trying to maintain for everyone else.

I know, once they’re solid,

we can claim our own, and make our own.

Our house, our homely home.

Poetry

Home tree

In the palms of my hands I hold a pile of soil,

a seedling sprouts from the centre,

green and reaching, reaching

for the sun.

But I collected the seed from which it grew

from its future self.

A tree that stands grand enough

to be the heart of a house

and ever a monument

to the love of the couple

who have made it their home.

Poetry

Home

Where is home?

 

Is it the place you’ve always resided,

storing memories as well as old clothes,

decorations, exercise equipment adorned with drying washing,

a teaspoon left on the draining board

after a hastily made cuppa?

 

Or is it the place where the people you love

greet you every time you appear,

whether it’s for an hour

or a week?

A place where you can be who you are,

no holding back,

and be totally, completely, accepted.

 

Where blood is not necessary to feel part of the family,

only warm smiles,

several helpings of tender sarcasm

and words that always bring

lightness of step

whenever they’ve been uttered.

Poetry

An aromatic infusion

We fly up hills and across sprouting fields,

forwards ten years and back a few months,

all the while staying still and linking hands.

 

The roads are curved, never straight,

always interlocking at some distant point.

How many times have we been in this direction

and haven’t noticed?

 

I see us in a cottage

with a workshop made for inventing

and re-inventing.

Mathematical solutions and puzzle pieces

poured into a teapot with pages from a writer’s notebook

and left to brew.

 

The extracts merge together wonderfully,

a full flavour

of the years we’ve experienced in a single cup.

Poetry

Liquid Clay

You hand fits in mine so perfectly,

I wonder if they were cast from the same mould.

I can feel all of you

in even the slightest touch.

I know our thoughts of the future,

and I bathe in them every day, thinking

one day,

one day.

 

The leaves are browning; coppers, bronze, golds.

You are silver. A river of it,

a mirror

that I can swim in to the house we’ll have,

with a library,

a dojo,

a room of puzzles only we can solve.

 

Forwards or backwards,

past or future.

Not forgetting the sweet moments of present.