Poetry

Elastagirl

In the spaces of my sockets (shoulder

sockets, that is, not eye)

the dust of all the things I’ve reached for

collects; the joints are loath to return

to face the withered evidence of so many bursts of hope.

No, they prefer to float away, striving for that bit of extra stretch

that will let me grasp those

teasing, nearly there, fluttering dreams.

I wouldn’t mind, but the sinew is wearing thin

and I need my arms to work properly

to embrace those bubbly moments of now.

Poetry

Sparklers

The sparks skip from your hands to mine,

Silver tears form in the corners.

I cannot laugh, it isn’t that kind of euphoria.

I am myself, yet most of my puzzle

Matches the gaps in yours. My thoughts

Come from your mouth

And your thoughts appear as vivid pictures

In my mind.

Shall we ramble as we ramble?

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?’

Poetry

Tranquillity

Balance, arm outs.

I’ll catch you if you fall.

Smell the fresh cut grass

and the scent of a barbecue on the evening breeze.

 

Hold me, and I’ll hold you.

 

You think you are always yang,

always darkness with a touch of light.

Who is to say

that the dark isn’t positive?

It could lead anywhere,

to anything.

A mystery.

A well of adventures

that I can take part in

simply by holding your hand.

 

Lie with me on the ground.

Let us laugh, let us talk,

let us truly live.

 

And not just now, in the moment.

Forever.

Because forever is only a long way off

if you view it that way.

So shake up your viewfinder and dust the lens.

 

Fresh eyes on a beautiful sunset.

Or is it a dawn?

Poetry

Calcified

You find it on the hearth, a tiny thing,

still a flutter beneath the calcified outer.

The warmth inside has faded to a simple prickle

that decreases every moment.

 

How did it get there, who cast it aside

to continue on their life without it,

hoping to never feel the pain and uncertainty that love can bring,

while forgetting how their view of everything

becomes just that little bit brighter for it?

 

You cradle it, unwanted heart,

hold it close to your own so it can share your heat,

build up a rhythm to restore its strength.

 

You guide it until it can beat on its own

and then let it make its way

back to the world

where it can find that reason to glow again.

Poetry

Clockwork field

The breeze causes time to pause around your face,

inner cogs jarred in a perpetual smile

of this moment in the long grass,

side by side with you, speaking in tongues

because words no longer matter,

our minds criss-crossed like the latticework on a cherry tart,

promising sweetness but sometimes adding a sharp tang

just to shake things up.