Poetry

Time jump

The pink carpet glares up

as I sit at the u-shaped set of tables

with the rest of the class.

The teacher stands in front of the blackboard,

but there’s silence.

It drags out, thick and dark

becoming a void that eats up the whole room.

It’s coming from me,

as I try and fail to figure out the equation I’ve been asked to solve.

As the void reaches me, I blink,

jumping forward.

The assessor is waiting just like my teacher,

but her fear is clear

as the sea coming from my eyes

threatens to drown the room.

Poetry

Prime numbers

I’m no good at maths, not the quick mental part anyway.

Or most of the other stuff. But I do like

the puzzling out, finding keys and pathways

if I’m left to pick through it on my own

scratching pencil notes in the margins of textbooks and on graph paper.

But what I really like is prime numbers.

The solidness of knowing they cannot be divided (evenly)

to make themselves smaller.

They are what they are. Unique and separate,

proud to command their value as it is.

 

I wish I was a prime number.

Wish my attention wouldn’t be split

over and over

or shoved into some complicated equation

I can’t even begin to wriggle out of before time runs out.

Poetry

Inner Working

Twelve keys lie on the ground, a thirteenth in my hand.

The doors, except one, have already been opened;

they spilt their knowledge over my skin.

A conclusion is not an answer, only the point at which we cease.

I could conclude here and now, and rest,

or use the thirteenth key and find the answer.

Is it really the answer I’m looking for,

or a way out of the answer altogether?

Why am I being asked what the answer is?

Because I’ve been told to find it.

That’s not a good enough reason for me.

Poetry

versicolor

I can bleed all the colours.

You can open me up and read my text,

flick through to any page you like.

Find the golden ration in the spiral

of my ears, watch as they angle

to listen to the world breathe.

I can melt the ice with my sweat,

or freeze it again with my touch.

Watch rubies grow in the chambers of my heart

and see the sand heated into glass

replacing my valves.

Poetry

The Number Games: May the odds be in your favour

I’m thinking of a number –

no, not that one –

it’s a bit more edgy,

higher too.

So four?

Not quite, try another.

Six then.

Oh, come on now, you

can do better than that.

I said edgy.

Fine, thirteen then.

No, no, no.

Half a triangle more like.

A triangle?

Is this even about numbers anymore?

No, not really,

but it kept you interested

for a while,

didn’t it?

Umm…

The answer was seven.

By the way.