Poetry

Crusty rolls and glass soda bottles

Blue. In my mouth, on my tongue.

Ice, salt and small

creatures that wriggle together to form limbs.

An eye enlarged by remnants

of a green beer bottle,

no longer sharp. Its threat dead.

Laughter from the sand,

sandwiches full of it.

Water filtered through a straw hat

to make a mirror pool.

Ears full, yet deaf.

Poetry

A shadow’s footsteps (draft)

The shadow of the second star

glides across creaking boards and

bloated sails, summoned by its youthful

keeper to sew it tight for the morn.

Safe from adults, hooked and

wigged, who pillage every source

for glittering trinkets and the dust

that brings spells of flight.

Yet twisted intentions hold no key,

only one power can grant the skies.

Belief.

From the full-lipped colours of

wild flowers, to the salt of deepest

seas, in the shimmer of a mermaid’s

scale and the warmth of a firefly’s glow

lies the echo of magic’s pulse, keeping

the ever grasping hands of Master

Time distant as dreams of rushing

hordes and striking clock towers.