Poetry

As seen through a round tank of water

Fill up the glass tanks, wear them on ours heads like giant fish bowls. If we spill any, we lose our worth and have to crawl on the floor with those dressed in rags, furiously mopping up after others and trying to fill our bowls once more.

The rags disintegrate, we are naked and no no-one cares. We are filthy and no one cares. We are hungry and no one cares. We have brains and no one cares. We have no glass tanks and everyone stares.

Poetry

Your legs are crossed, a solid base

to ponder the long hours we spend apart,

seeking a way to change the shape

of what the timelines hold.

 

You watch the mountains change their caps,

the saplings grow wider,

see the decay of walls

and erection of new ones.

 

Eyes stare back at you,

weary, withered, hopeful.

They think you have the answer.

They think your shoulders are right to take the weight.

 

Inside, you are crumbling.

Inside, the water is building,

pushing ever against the dam.

The clock’s ticking is incessant.

 

One day you will break,

and they will accept how human you are.

Flooding everyone with the rawness.

By then, I will return,

and mend the hurts leaching you away.

Poetry

Oracle of Ages

The trees always smiled when I entered the forest.

I bet you think that’s

odd.

Trees can’t smile.

But they can;

look closely.

 

With their slight shimmering

of branches,

they always asked why it was so long

between

 

visits.

 

I would reply the same way each time.

‘So I may never take this peace

and solace for granted.

It is easy for moments like this

to go unappreciated

until the time we can share them

no more.’

 

Now, trees are ageless,

pensive beings,

who see much loss in their lifetimes.

Yet no matter how they try,

the fleeting, finicky

minds of humans

are quite beyond them.

 

All the council they gave was, ‘Surely

the wonder of a moment

pales beside the wonder of an age?’

Poetry

Feline Judgement

Her tail flicks as she saunters past,

nose aloft and green eyes

avoiding my gaze.

The delicate scent of catnip

I purposefully misted on her bedding

gets only a single sniff,

and the square fishy treats

no more than a cautionary lick.

I suppose that’s all I deserve,

having been away

for two whole days.

 

Poetry

Times

You can lean

against many things in life.

The sturdy and immoving wall;

Ideas which stretch across lifetimes, continents, cultures;

Friends who were once strangers.

And then

there are those photographs

of diferent times,

times we took for granted

And times we thought

were hard before we knew

what that realĺy meant.

Poetry

Dust and dreams

Staying alive as a whole person

when we are all made

of glowing particles of expression

straining

to break free

is quite a wonder, really.

 

All these dreams, all these thoughts

of bounding off into the depths of

 

of what?

 

The image in my head

is a great plain of grasses, rivers,

books, wildlife;

everything I love.

But that is not the depths of anything.

It’s only little me.