Poetry

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 onĀ into the wind,

gliding across the ocean.

Our cheeks are rosy, smiles wide,

as our feet lead us home.

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

Ten thousand steps and counting

We can go years without connecting with anyone.

Passing comments with associates, laughing at their jokes,

offering background information.

Some say that is connecting.

But it’s not.

Not on a level where

all illusions dissipate,

body language relaxes and accents sneak back in

to chilled speech.

Not on a level where you know what the other is thinking,

gather a conversation of meaning

from one gesture

and laugh just from the slight twinkle

in each other’s eyes.

We can go years without that,

and then one day

stumble into the realisation that the right person

was there all along,

and together

you squeeze the friendship

of those years

into a month or two, and go on

as if it’s always been that way.

Poetry

Mindset

I’m in an uncertain mood.

 

Uncertain if the days

are long

or if my mind is simply

short.

 

How many times does a person nod

when you’re not writing

about them?

 

Does the sun mind

that we can’t look at it,

or does it laugh

because we can,

just not in the way we think?

 

Have you heard the rumour

that a dripping tap

collects its drips

in a glass,

and then drinks them?

 

Did you watch the rumour

as it spilled from my lips

when I saw the tap

drink its drips

because the sun laughed

even when it felt sad

that no-one could look upon it

when, in fact, the person only nodded,

twice,

when they realised

my mind is short

and the day is long?

 

My mood is uncertain of me.