Poetry

Reawakening

It’s a firecracker with karate oomph.

 

No lace involved at this point.

No webs spun, no leaf skeletons

to be collected, analysed, stamped.

 

It took a while to create the right mix

of mineral and powder,

testing and re-testing until the colours were held high,

shouting, ‘we are to return to our maiden voyage.

We are to return

to the sea and its torrents, its salt and seaweed

and the lights of anglerfish in its belly.

 

We are to fight the storms and ride them through

until the calm

spreads her fingers across the surface

and we find the land

we’ve always searched for

bit could never find until now.

 

The homeland of our hearts,

where our roots can be unwrapped

from their protective cloth

and left to spread as they wish.

 

 

 

 

Poetry

We are writers

We can tell the story any way we like:

add details,

remove details,

embellish, embolden,

build anticipation or slather on despair.

Confuse affection with love and love with affection,

claim no heart

and a heart big enough for them all.

We are writers,

we tell what we will,

the beginning and end may always be the same

but the middle is ours

to divine.

Poetry

Prism Song

The warmth from the window hits me in time with the gentle touch of your fingers resting on my shoulder. In this moment, my eyes sweeping over the words of a book you gave me, hungry for the story you knew I’d love, I can glimpse the certainty of our future. It’s always these small things,

small comforts,

that get me. I’m at home in your embrace, alive in your company. And I know, with you, I can achieve all of my dreams. My ambitions don’t worry, scare or intimidate you. You see the spring of my creativity and bathe in it. You help me polish the crystals found in its waters, giving me confidence to share them with the world.

Poetry

Home

Home is where we stand

facing the beams that hold us up.

We measure ourselves against walls and doors,

imprinting our personality

into dented paintwork and over-trafficked carpets.

We can inhabit alone,

or we can inhabit together.

Parents, siblings, friends, lovers

may move in or out,

furniture may dance together or shuffle apart,

but the foundations will always remain.

Poetry

Oracle of Seasons

I woke up

and for once I silenced my fears.

I picked up a nugget of sunlight and put it in my top pocket,

patting it

every time the chill from the tunnel

made goosepimples rise on my skin.

It sent a ripple of heat and light through my body

that became as natural as breath.

 

In the distance, I saw you pick up

a nugget of your own

and hide it in the lengths of your hair.

With every casual stride

it glinted, dazzling my eyes.

I wanted to run out of winter, and join you in summer.

 

I didn’t realise you were running towards me.

We met in spring.

Poetry

Tightrope walking

I take a cup of water and shake it up like dice on a gambling table,

throwing it out to watch it splash down on the invisible webs

plucking as my eyes, at my hands, at my will.

The droplets reveal them, more than I knew there were

(though I had suspicions), stretching far back into the past

where I thought it didn’t matter anymore.

But it seems that though the spiders have long since died,

their silk is as strong as it ever was, and has bound me

more tight than I can bear.

I have nothing that can cut them, so I must work to unravel them instead.

I don’t know how much time it will take. It doesn’t matter,

as long as I make sure to live along the way.

Poetry

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.

 

Poetry, Uncategorized

Wild hunt

The riders churn up the sodden grass. Horses snorting, ragged breaths. The eclipse baths them in amber fire, not unlike that catching in their minds from the fear. Close, even-handed, promising a kiss. The trial failed. People didn’t believe in the grand scales of justice. The colour palette of skin, limb, mind and faith squashed ever tighter by the notches of authority. The moon breaks free of the shadow. The sun is always watching.