Poetry

Imposter

The pages of drafts and edits could decorate my walls,

each finished book a paperweight, a door stop,

decoration for the shelves

and hideaway for the mind after a long day.

Above all, evidence.

 

Surely I can’t dispute clear fact?

 

The voice of blank bears down on me,

drawing up every negative:

comments, remarks, comparisons,

the scattered and scribbled notes in my journal,

scratched out because they weren’t good enough.

 

Weren’t good enough. Weren’t good enough.

 

Do I prove it right? Or plug my ears,

gather my notes and map them into sense

just like I did last time?

Poetry

It’s not always winter

I take the knife and carve away a slither.

The exposed skin reddens at the touch of cold air

and regrows its protective casing.

I try again, carving away another slice,

yet still the ice seeps in and forces retreat.

Moons change and the casing grows thin,

I cannot depend on it for support much longer.

The crushing air outside is still strong…but wait!

Is that a warm spot approaching in the distance?

I can last just a little longer. A fraction more.

I reach out

and it takes me with it.

The memory of warmth becomes real,

I shed my casing without worry.

Poetry

Constant

We walked side by side between planets,

watched their oceans swell and fall

into stardust, theorizing how Saturn’s rings

may be its core

after its writhing energy tore out

to form its own globe.

 

The stars can be seen during day on Mercury,

but I can see them at any time I wish

in your eyes.

Our markers held well over the year,

the beats sounded and shook me giddy.

 

In the grain of that bench under the maples,

our echoes will reside forever.

 

Poetry

A story of trees

Like two phoenixes who have been mated their whole, long lives

we will rise up from our ashes

and carve out space for ourselves

in dark, lichen covered trunks.

Our arms will wrap around each other

in an eternal hug

which will become an eden for birds and squirrels and bees.

From the strength and solidness of our roots

we will remain side by side forever,

entangled in a shower of leaves and blossom.

 

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

Jokers

Thank you for your hands that keep me safe

Reassuring with a gentle grasp

And strong enough to withstand my anxious clutching

When it all gets too much.

Thank you for your attentive gaze,

For seeing the things I so desperately try to hide from the world

And doing all you can to help me out on days I struggle to raise my head.

I offer the same to you. When you need me, I’ll be there.

We are both jokers who have finally found each other inside the deck

And nothing will separate us from now on.

 

 

Poetry

Symptoms

The catch in my throat

cannot decide if it’s there because I have hayfever

or because I have to wave you goodbye for now.

Same with the ache in my head

and the water at my eyes.

In one case, I’m not myself for a while.

In the other, I’m only functioning at half capacity.

The remaining half…

well, that followed you.

Poetry

You can come out, now

It’s funny seeing colours jump around on your skin

when all you’ve looked at before

is black and white.

When supporting hands surround you if you fall

instead of nothingness,

and the darkness can’t take hold in your mind

because sconces filled with rich fire have been lit throughout

its pathways.

 

It’s funny, having backup, an alter-ego, a friend.

You don’t quite know what to do,

because the part of you that remembers this is what it should be like

is still hiding under the blankets.

 

 

 

Poetry

Vision

Spread out your collarbones, stand tall.

It’s how they’ll see you

when everything is trying to obscure you from their horizons.

Step through the doors that open,

but only if your heart tells you that’s where it wants to go.

If your eyes catch on another path,

even if there’s no sign,

it can always be enlightening to explore.

Tradition doesn’t have to stale up decisions.

Take the fresh air and use it as an arrow, letting it spin

until it finds your true north.

Poetry

Ice Maiden

She drinks in the river and lets the ice settle in her heart,

enclosing the fire they want to steal away.

They’re gasping, gasping for their lives,

but she thinks not, should have left the cradle be.

She ignores the red blood, the blue

for hers is deep green and never runs dry.

Hers is the proud tears of mothers watching their babes grow,

the sound laughter as they sever her veins.