Resistance

The green always hardens over time. Tries to deflect the wind and rain,

but no barrier it puts up can beat them for long.

The voice is blue now, the kisses cool.

Let it sleep until the sun rises.

Peach Stone

1.

Inside, it’s cold. The density

causes ice to vomit from my mouth,

fingernails blue up to the cuticles.

If I were to examine my chest,

open my flesh and push apart my ribs,

would I see a ball of obsidian

or a fleshy, ripe peach?

 

2.

With you, the limbs of the tree are always

bent with fruit

no matter if the middle of winter

grasps at its bark. Soft, plump, nourishing.

I can always pick how much I want,

cook it up and make sweet crumble

to warm our bellies.

 

 

Crisp foot prints

Our steps crunch together

as we walk in time

across the frosted snow.

You hold my hand as I skid

over a frozen drain,

I clutch yours as you trip

over hidden tree roots.

The cold air doesn’t stop

our laughter from skittering about

the park and on into the wind,

gliding across the ocean.

Our cheeks are rosy, smiles wide,

as our feet lead us home.

Snow

And I can see those crystal smiles

flaking through the sky, passing here, staying there,

skipping over to those outstretched fingers

only to blush and shy away.

Replacing it, the older brother,

hammering down to flood the ground,

standing rigid and smooth

even against steady feet.

Water Nymph

Sometimes I think I’m water.

Well, technically a substantial portion of me is,

but I’m talking about,

you know,

free flowing water.

The kind that freezes when it’s cold,

or pools in shallow dips when it rains,

hangs around in the air

to fluff up

that girl’s neatly straightened hair.

Except it isn’t my form that changes.

It’s my mood,

my entire attitude

to life.

I’m not complaining, just

observing really.

Once I thought it’d be good to be fire.

Then the wind caught my candle

and blew it out.

Fairy dance

Do you remember the dancing fairies

from Fantasia? 

The ice skating ones, who carve all those lacy designs

on the pond with their toes?

Yes, those ones. Think we could ever

do something like that? Map out our life

on frozen water?

Maybe not on frozen water.

Why not?

Because it’s so still, but life never is.

Oh, I hadn’t thought about that.

Well, now you have.

 

Extract from my current WIP

I don’t usually write poems or songs in my books, but this time the story called for one. And as this blog features quite a lot of my poetry, I thought I’d share it. To put it in context, it gives a vial clue for my characters to find something:

‘And when the snows begin to ease

On mountains high, with cool breeze

Look out to the peaks every morn

From which the ice sparrows are drawn

And watch them duck and dive

Until upon the floating cities they arrive,

Stealing crystals for their nests,

Those naughty sparrows, dragon’s pests.