Poetry

The fading of memory as time closes in

It runs, feral thing, clawing its way to the corner

where it dives into the carpet and hides there

in the swirls of moth-eaten flowers and turquoise gaps.

The pathway it came down disappeared

and left it abandoned in the ruins, watching the stairs

it once so loved to climb

crumple into wisps of doubt.

What did the house look like before?

Does it still exist? Did it ever?

Poetry

Powder puff

I stare out at the breeze lifting the fushia flowers from the plant, seeing

only fairies with puffy blossom skirts

and skinny legs dangling out beneath.

When they fall to the ground, I think, ‘Oops, there goes

another one who was too weighed down by her dress.’

Visions like this come often;

bursts of another world thrown

at me like powder at a colour festival.

I drink them up and let them buzz inside me for the rest of the day.

Poetry

Picture Thinking

The mere mention of an object, hint of an idea, suggestion of a concept

and my mind has plastered it all over my thinking space:

magazine cut-outs, posters, video stills,

reels of film. Solid as the wall in front of me,

just behind my eyes. It’s odd that it’s invisible to you.

Elephants come charging in from The Jungle Book,

pink cousins visiting from Dumbo,

onyx bead eyes from a National Geographic photo I once saw

and a few others dancing around up there, with the word ELEPHANT

in grey, wrinkled lettering floating above their heads.

No one ever talks about how they think,

I didn’t realise this associative image gallery

wasn’t the norm.

Poetry

Ladies, please!

‘Ladies, please

the patient needs her rest,

stop bothering her with these trivial things!’

 

‘It’s not our fault, madame, she’s doing it herself.

She won’t sit still

no matter how many tasks she completes

 

I’ve never seen anyone procrastinate from resting!’

The maid bustled over to the weary girl perfectly

content in organising her affairs.

 

‘Now madame says you must retire to your bed

so please consider, for my sake,

to lay down your head

or at the very least

 

settle down with a cup of tea

and observe the birds flitting about the trees.’

 

The girl raised her head,

considering her brain’s suggestion,

and ignored it once again.

Poetry

Kingdom Crasher

Little demon;

small one loitering in the side alley,

waiting for the merry makers to trip and fall.

Only a second,

and your fingerprints are all over their pies.

Crushed pastry,

you lick the berry juice off and laugh.

This is your hobby, your dream, your job.

You do not see them spying on you,

marking your movements,

tracking your trail.

They are the ones who will see to it

that you fail.

Poetry

Mind Song

We float around in our little heads,

conjuring images from things long said

and if the circuit board

should ever be damaged

wiping our memories

both sweet and savage,

we know that time often heals

with due care, sensible practices and steady meals.

Even if we’re unsure what we’re seeking

we can still approach the stars with proper greeting.

Poetry

Earthquake

A thousand conversations in my ears,

snatches of words, flashes of colour

and the whole ground shaking.

 

My ground

is turning, thrown up and down

with no chance to recover

before the world is split in two

and my heartbeat

is both silent and rampant.

 

Unable to process what’s going on,

detachment takes hold

 

forcing breath into my lungs

and oxygen to my head.

 

I look up and see the sky.

Calm, blue and trimmed

with a neat green beard.

 

Ice flows forward to crash

against my ankles,

bringing with it the lull of evening.

 

The voices, now tired, begin to settle.

even as the roar continues.

 

Eventually

they take the leap and merge

with the shadows. Dark.

Tied with the night.

Poetry

Oracle of Ages

The trees always smiled when I entered the forest.

I bet you think that’s

odd.

Trees can’t smile.

But they can;

look closely.

 

With their slight shimmering

of branches,

they always asked why it was so long

between

 

visits.

 

I would reply the same way each time.

‘So I may never take this peace

and solace for granted.

It is easy for moments like this

to go unappreciated

until the time we can share them

no more.’

 

Now, trees are ageless,

pensive beings,

who see much loss in their lifetimes.

Yet no matter how they try,

the fleeting, finicky

minds of humans

are quite beyond them.

 

All the council they gave was, ‘Surely

the wonder of a moment

pales beside the wonder of an age?’