Poetry

Tea Hands

My arms are full. I’m exhausted.

When I walk through the door

your smile caresses me

with the warmth of your hands – tea hands,

you would say if it were the other way around –

as you ease the weight away from me

and boil the kettle

to make a brew that will rest my entire body.

Poetry

Let down your hair

The tower I am trapped in

is hidden in the darkest of recesses.

There are no ropes for me to let down,

no long locks of hair for me to weave.

If I jump, I will plummet.

 

I have been shorn, stripped of all that I am.

 

The world has gone silent.

The world has gone dark.

 

But then a pulse

beats through the stone walls.

Vibrant as morning light sparkling on the sea’s spray.

 

I hear it.

Accompanied by a scent I cannot describe,

but akin to that

of spring to a flower.

 

The darkness smothering me

begins to recede.

My hair is given permission to grow again,

and so I let it.

 

Finally, I am able

to make my escape.

Poetry

See From Above

If your view is clouded, obstructed

or you are simply tired of looking,

climb up

so that all the things you fear

and feel are so big they cannot be ignored

become little more than figurines and building blocks,

a child’s game of heroes and villains

where a gentle flick

is all it takes to knock the bad guys to the ground

and a shuffle and re-stacking of pieces

can rebuild what’s been broken.

Poetry

Griffin Nuggets

Imagining people as mythical creatures,

whether they’re the people

you know so well you can map out every mole on their arms

like a constellation,

or one of those people

who grind you under their boots just for fun,

can completely change

your view of reality.

So even on days

when you want nothing more than to huddle

into a ball and hide from the world,

this little nugget of imagination

never fails to offer a moment of hilarity.

And sometimes,

it can change your mood in an instant.

Poetry

Daisy chain

Our link between worlds –

You, standing on a plinth of long grass,

looking across the clouds

to watch them take breath. Wild

flowers root at your feet.

Me, voice on the wind

ready to wake your ears

from the ballad infecting

your past. Fleeting,

barely a strand of thought

connects us, gone the instant it arrives.