A chain is only as strong as its weakest link

There was a lock around my heart,

chains dragging behind me, longer than Jacob Marley’s.

I thought I’d have them forever,

but it turned out that words are a great corrosive,

eating into the toughest metals.

They didn’t come from me, I was too much

on the inside, struck dumb by expectations and resigned attitudes.

They came from you, from a single offer you made

of trying to help me solve a puzzle.

Neither of us realised the puzzle

was ourselves.

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Social Noise

The camera flash flashes away my sight of you,

aided by the hovering, caterwauling middle-agers,

parents of rushing children, despite their own failure

to reel in their mouths, and yet your words still

paint themselves in my mind, sponsored by your unwavering image.

The reason is the pouring of your heart, cogs, springs

and fate line into my lap so I can cradle each one

in reason and warmth, judgement free.

Alas, the world wants to block you from my ears,

so to quiet we must go, where my attention

can blanket you fully.

Tales by the hearth

The fire crackles in the grate,

shadows dancing with smoke tendrils as she reads

aloud, cloaked figures sneaking through her voice

to my wondering ears

as I cling to the embroidered arm of her chair.

 

The ritual nightly, yet never dull.

I play with the bobble on her slippers as she pauses to sip

Lady Grey from her fine china cup

then places it back on the saucer.

 

Resuming her place as though no pause had been taken

she leads me into the night

to meet the King of Dreams.

 

When I wake, the fire is dead

and her chair is cold,

its colours faded.

Lost

Your eyes    drift

Hands reach back into drowning pools

to drag you out    alive

you    breathe

and wonder   why

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I turn the page, resting my voice for a second

and catch your gaze on me, eyes bright

and full of delight.

You’ve said many times

that my reading voice is magical.

I wouldn’t have believed you if you hadn’t looked at me that way every time.

If I didn’t know

you’d never

use words that were untrue just to flatter me.

Your words are always true,

as is your encouragement.

As is your love.

And so I shall read for you

until the years catch us up

and I can read no more.

Workshop Adventures

The day has been full-on:

adventures and silliness,

words sandwiched between words

and tales twisted until every drop

of story has been strained out

and boiled back together.

Hard sweets bursting with flavour.

Smiles, giggles and notes running off the page,

finishing with inspiration not just

for the listeners,

but the speaker also.

Fastened

It’s never too much for you to hear my thoughts.

Never too much to meet me in the gaps of the day,

even though you are pulled around on puppet strings

and often made to dance through the night;

kept away from the family loop no matter how hard you try

to seek a way back in.

I, in turn, will always listen to even the darkest parts of your mind,

caring not what hour it is, even if the witches are out.

What matters to me is you know

I’m not going anywhere,

my feet are sewn to the same path as yours

by my own hand,

a stitch that can never be cut.

Lazy Afternoon Rambles

As the week comes to a close

and our schedules open up

to be the holes that form notes

in a music box’s song,

 

I hold out my hand

so we can touch palm to palm.

 

It would be a waste

if we didn’t use this time to spark

 

off each other, mind to mind,

whether it takes a stroll in the mist

or an afternoon melting into the sofa

 

with words tumbling over each other

from the waterfalls that we call lips.

 

Stand with me, my friend,

and let us be.

They call

And now those cosy sheets

Patchworks of flannel and cotton

Flutter open to let you in

They say lie down and ease

Those shoulders of yours

Take refuge from the world

Do what needs doing. Go

To sleep

Don’t talk over me

Chatting away to a piece of wired glass

is not unusual nowadays.

Communication, these magic mirrors,

across oceans and mountains and tonnes of fresh air –

well, perhaps not so fresh anymore,

not where we lurk at least.

Mingling human jelly babies,

both heat and cold make us stick together,

even when our bodies are so distant,

or our thoughts so far away

from the concerns groaning up from the ground

beneath our feet.