Poetry

Bees

We spent the night together.

No doing, just being.

Sometimes it’s nice to just be.

Bee in a bonnet – it feels

like that, except there’s never a way

to release the busy buzzing scouts.

They nest at the edges of my vision,

perpetually reminding me

of all the little things

that eat away at my nerves.

They quiet when I’m with you.

 

Poetry

Upturned paint tins

Shelter; storms gather as we escape

down the grassy staircase, vines

threaten to catch our ankles.

The ground splits open on the final

step. We’re swallowed down –

or perhaps suspended – in the giant

stomach of crumbled earth.

The MC appears behind us.

‘Describe how you get your ideas.’

Poetry

Shoulder-hugger

Dot. Stamp. Dot. Stamp.

Tapping lightly,

the marbled paper bleeds. Rivulets

of perspiration; precipitation from the mind.

Tick. Tick. Cross. Tick.

Scathing, scarring acid nails

scrape the skin. That little demon.

Shrug it off. Away, down the river.

Beaten with adrenaline.