Poetry

Eye Candy

An enormous platter arrives,

stacked on top of a toppling pillar

threatening to bury you,

but the prize is so great

it is the only thing you can see.

 

A remark can be harmless.

A remark can hurt.

 

When information is gleaned

and used for amusement,

gossip, whisper, giggle, snort:

the pillar will crumble completely.

 

And there will be no-one left

to recover you from the rubble.

Poetry

The Bard

Each word is the gateway for another,

pathways opening whenever his tongue runs wild.

Flashes of white,

a grin that never falters

when he’s around me, even when the dark eats us up.

Every motion

has three words embedded in it,

a hallmark of our life and the future

we can’t know

yet will never fail to see.

Droplets of his thoughts cascade around us:

wetting the earth, the air

and refreshing the stale thoughts

clogging up my mind.

I cannot predict his tales,

and I do not wish to.

His muse is always keen to listen,

treading his rambling steps wherever they lead.

Poetry

Unwrap

I’m handed a ball-shaped mass of paper.

Glitter bows and silver pen all over.

Sometimes the small things that are inside

count more, you say. Unwrap it. You’ll see.

Wire cage under the paper. Hanging

from the top, five metal balls. Newton’s cradle.

Tick, pass centre, tick.  Like my heart.

Like your heart. Beats passing back and forth.

Momentary silence between them, but

always an answer in the end.

Poetry

To-do List

The postman arrives

with the to-do list of doom

holding it out like the poison it is,

dripping its case for me to assess

as I take it from his trembling hands.

Dust off those forgotten tomes.

Arrange by publication date,

then colour. Colour that milk

with stronger tea. Write emails.

Phone doctors. Book appointments with clients.

Phone your mother.

Oh no.

Phone your mother.

I knew this was coming.

Phone your mother.

No.

Phone. Your. Mother.

No, please!

Fine. But you know I’ll be back tomorrow.

Poetry

Aunt Maria: A reflection

We mustn’t walk out that door. Not yet, see.

They might still be there. Or even worse, we might.

Keep out of sight. Timing is everything.

Don’t tell me you’ve forgotten the rules already.

Tap tap. Hear that noise? It’s her again.

Let’s ignore her. See how she likes it.

Drowned out, background noise.

Like a buzz. A Queen Bee, I should say.

We’re not trapped in her hive anymore.

We can’t be managed.

I feel smug that she knows.

Poetry

Choices, cupboards and cats

When the holes appear in your headspace, apparent as the fur on an ash black feline, dare you ask what ingredients are missing? What supplies, though planned, have gone astray? The meaning is lost, you can see it on their faces; clarification is needed. You thought it was there – honest, you did – but they say time over time, that it’s only there in your mind.