The earth talks to me.
The vibrations spur my feet on,
coaxing me to see with my body,
not just my eyes.
How much I miss by looking,
how much I see when my eyelids are shut.
Tag: sight
Here We Are
So you want to know
what your closed eyes are missing?
Take my hand and I shall show you.
I’ll take you down to the stream
and let you dip your fingers in the cool water,
let you feel how the rocks break and curl the flow
and how the small fish
shy from your wake.
I’ll take you up hills and obscure paths,
hold your arms out wide
so you can be swept away by the wind
to fall easily among the long grasses and fallen catkins
that cheekily kiss your skin.
I’ll take you to forests where the rain has just eased
and the scent of wet earth and crisp leaves
rises to meet you with every stride,
while the birds flit overhead deep in song
and squirrels scamper up trees,
only to chitter angrily when you stray too close.
And after all that,
I’ll draw your hands to my face as I smile,
so you can feel each muscle lift, each crease of my eyes deepen
and feel the heat rise to my cheeks
as you finally blink awake
and look at me fully, gaze locked with mine.
Observations of a face
Each muscle works to form an expression,
a twitch of the mouth on one side forming a half-smile
that exposes your teeth just enough to lightly rest the backs of your fingers against them;
pensive as always
staring off into the distance or close inside your heart.
Sometimes your eyes are mild and calm like a quiet lake on a still afternoon,
but they can change in a beat
to intense as a great maelstrom threatening to swallow every ship headed its way.
Soft brows cannot hide the waves of emotion
threatening to crash forth;
only practice and willpower make them bow down.
And then those cheeks, always lifted in a grin,
but which only ache, wonderfully,
from a true smile.
Compass needles
What good is looking in one direction
when life is happening all around you?
Trains speed past on the tracks outside your house;
coaches full of faces
with their own minds overlapped like a puzzle box.
Sometime all it takes is a ‘hello’
to gain the key,
others it is many greetings over years
until finally the last lock rots away.
One of my closest friends
is a boy I’ve worked with for two years,
but not until we paused to take in the whole sight
rather than our own narrow view
did we realise
how closely the pieces of our puzzles match.
Inked
My hands are circuit boards, lines inked like solder
to connect all the dots. A map of who I am
woven into a cloak so you can’t see me at all
unless I show you the route with red marker.
You might not want to look past my shield,
sometimes I don’t want you to, either.
It’s when I break down without knowing,
becoming still and silent, a signpost to nowhere,
that I need you to see. The me behind it all.
Two Hearts
The heart on a pillow of sunshine
leans across to speak
to the heart under a cover of shade,
wrapped firmly from all light
by woven clouds.
It pumps bold colour down
onto the humid sheets,
tie-dyeing them with rainbows.
The heart under a cover of shade
rolls over. ‘Colour is meaningless
when my eyes only see grey,’ it says.
The heart on the pillow of sunshine
smiles. ‘Then let me show you how
the colours feel, instead.’
A display at the exhibit
Twist it good,
squeeze the dye from the rag
and paint broad strokes
over their eyes.
Tease them, taint them,
make them crave
the taste of inking,
have them savour
the sharpness on their tongues.
Tempt them with
cherry-laced vinegar
that leaves a permanent stain
on white memory,
and finally gather
their multi-coloured tears.
Open your eyes
Fire climbs up my flesh,
seeping through my pores –
my veins are charged
with impulse.
The ledge of the world is before me.
I step up and finally
see the vastness beyond.
Coiled, my knees spring
to launch
my body down.
I ride the air’s waterfall;
I don’t fear the fall.
Someone will catch me.
They always do.
And if that fails, my shoulders
will ignite with ember-flower wings
to carry me back
where I belong.
Treeshallow Musings 