Poetry

Tree smiths

The elves slipped quietly into the girl’s dreams,

carefully tending to the seedling of her imagination

before adulthood sprayed it with weedkiller.

‘Grow strong,’ they whispered to it, ‘into a mighty

tree that will only expand as the years pass,

never withering even with extreme age.’

And then they bowed to it and each other,

before drifting out to find the next child

threatened by the corsets of society and peers.

Poetry

Sunny Smiles

Buttermilk-stained plates

poke up from the fray

of earthy closeness.

They greet the day,

even if you don’t want to,

and when you do, they’ll be waiting

to gift you with smiles.

 

When the colour fades as the skies turn,

and the flesh huddles down

to protect itself from the oncoming

chill kisses,

you know that their solid will

is a promise

of their return.

Poetry

The Feasting of the Pitcher

Dive into my belly,

you quick-footed buzzing fool.

Let me trap you

among my garden of dead.

No more flitting from

place to place, never

content to rest for more than a day.

Leaving only trails of disease

behind, why would they ever appreciate you?

Let me drown you,

so that your dull hum is finally

silenced.

No-one will mourn you,

but I promise to stand forever

as your monument.