Poetry

A little tale

Dark lets down its itching feet

to wriggle its toes in the springy grass.

It waves to Moon, who winks her encouragement,

and then it rushes down the hills to dance in the glades,

to leap onto roofs and chimney pots.

All night long, it can be seen merry making,

laughing with owls and chittering after bats,

but after so many hours of leaping about,

weariness rushes over it

and up to its bed it goes, dragging its feet back

under the orange sky.

Poetry

Butterfly Nets

I recall the shine of your teeth in the dark

as you smile at me

in a moment of snatched privacy.

Outside, the stars hang high

though the moon has hidden itself under a duvet of clouds.

Whispers of the breeze

rustle off our clothes as we speak of future adventures

when time doesn’t have to be caught

with butterfly nets

and the key in my pocket will be ours,

not mine.

Poetry

Light and Space

The universe is in a light bulb.

Stardust coating the filament,

specks of light in the distance

expanding ever outwards,

and comets passing by.

 

The galaxy is in a puff of smoke,

swirling off into the wind.

Planets, stars, dark matter,

all gone in an instant,

or drawn back the next

Poetry

Miss Universe

And I can see the stars

swirling around on her dress,

a meteor shower by her ankles,

an eclipse over her shoulders.

Her earrings are red dwarfs,

her rouge made of cosmic dust.

She freezes the solar systems

and puts them in her iced tea,

which she sips as she admires the galaxies

framed forever on her walls.

Poetry

Berry Scrumping

We gather them nightly,

lip-smacking juices running down my chin.

You look like a vampire

you say, equally so.

We laugh as the moon cackles down at us

and goose pimples rise

up over our exposed skin.

 

On our way home,

hands weaved together, close,

more support than affection,

you slip your mask back over your face

hiding the pinkish stains from the world.

Hiding our sweet indulgence

even from  yourself.

 

 

Poetry

The Thoughts of Those

The moon glanced up at the sun. It

Had never worked

With such a well-known star before

And was more nervous than the first

Time it glowed for the Earth.

Of course, it had always seen

The sun, but now they were cast

Together for the Eclipse

(A momentous production);

How small and pale it felt.

The sun didn’t notice

The moon’s nervousness.

The sun was busy looking at

The giant audience of peers

Gathered around to witness

Its Moment.

Poetry

Opening credits

Pretending it’s okay

not to be cast

as the main character,

to always be left behind

while others race to the moon

and bathe in its shimmering

light.

 

That’s you all over.

 

I’ve watched you

calmly accepting

year after year

day after day

hour after hour

that you’re second best.

 

I can’t hold back any longer.

 

I reach for the mirror,

grasping it firmly,

and force you to look

into it.

 

You do.

 

Your eyes meet mine.

You realise that you don’t want

to

race

to the moon, anyway.

 

You strap rockets to your feet

and fly

instead,

capturing its light

in your hands

to sculpt

the moon’s tears

one by one,

each different to the last.

 

People pick them up where they land,

marveling at their uniqueness.

 

Finally, you’re proud

of who you are.

 

Finally, I’m proud

of who I am.

 

Poetry

The Shackles That Have No Key

I hunt the moon

as it searches the sandy shores,

looking for the key it will never find.

My licking flames

touch its hide,

illuminating it for all the world to see,

but so lost

in its task is it

that the heat worries it not.

With a whine of despair that only hints

at the true longing

in its crater flecked heart,

it extends its gentle, pale

hands down to tug at the ocean,

pulling the waves back like blankets

cast from a bed.

Come now, my friend,

I cannot remove your shackles,

but I can take you from them.