Poetry

Spin Time

Circle the sun: your heart, your head.

Catch the vortex around your neck;

squeeze it, control it.

 

Ride the motion – you are not trapped,

throw the hoop away if it starts to shackle,

grip it tight and pizza-toss it high.

 

Don’t be afraid of the spiral,

let the spiral be afraid of you.

Poetry

Little ballerina doll

Toes against the box. Comfort lacking.

Weight on one pointe; gravity sucking me down.

My foot sinks into the floor. Smile. Be light.

High arches circle, support from the side.

I feel safe now, knowing I can lower myself.

Hop away. Run from the box.

Run, but never escape.

The box is attached. It demands to be risen on.

It owns me.

For the swans and fairies I’ve grown up watching,

it’s clear they own their box.

Why can’t I?

Poetry

Grim Street Music – for all your musical needs

Every time I try to practice with my violin,

the world goes rather peculiar,

 

as a funeral march sings out of it

and humanity drops to its feet.

 

My pet mice love it, they get to

dance freely out of their cage.

 

The owner of the quaint music shop

where I bought it did say the wood

 

it was made from came

from an unconventional source

 

before turning back to the coffin

that was the sales counter.