Poetry

Trust exercise

Experience minds, not just their vessels.

Let them help you peel away your layers

while you do the same for them.

The walls of your fortress will crumble, but that’s okay.

Share the past; stinging words, flashbacks. All.

Allow the memories to be, allow them to mature

and disperse into momentary fizzles.

Know that time eases, but is no ointment.

Keep a jar handy to soothe the welts if

and when they rise.

And communicate. Any way you choose.

Being voiceless does not make you mindless.

Understanding is sourced from so much more

than words.

Poetry

Time bubble

Inside, the surfaces are greyscale,

effigies so plain they cannot distract.

The only glow comes from the tools on my desk,

the ink, the paper, my own hands.

Time is still while I work,

boring deeper into the creative swirl,

light intensifying

until finally the filament goes

and the clock’s ticking rushes in

with all the colour,

vanishing my focused, serene world

while replacing it with the buzz of everyday life

and the knowledge that hours have passed

in my absence.

Poetry

Overhead

No birds circle anymore, only griffins, whose

wingbeats hurricane  through the grass

as they claim the right to own the free air.

They fish for green thieves seeking to steal their glinting aluminium treasures.

The twelves hours of day

crumble like biscuits underfoot,

each minute fractured by the bloodied sand

where they leave them to die.

 

 

Poetry

Untitled

Untitled, I am simply me

to walk around and sketch the day

as I please. Or that’s what you might expect

if you spy me from a distance,

the woman who can take her time doing this and that,

including moulding time itself into whatever shape she likes.

Underneath the glass, however,

I have a structure that demands I do something deemed as an achievement

each day, and my body won’t let me rest

nor will my mind,

and in those rare times when I beat it back

guilt wraps its fingers around my heart and squeezes

until the enjoyment of whatever I’m doing for fun

turns dull and grey, as ash in my mouth.

Poetry

Take off

My wings spread, feathers brushing the dust away from the flight path. Goggles down, I cast my gaze ahead and jump. Wind tears at me; a gale. It flurries up, causing my momentum to surge off course. The tick of the second hand on my pocket watch counts the moments I plunge down — the sound a boom, cannon blasts in my head. The updraft catches me in her firm hold, clasping me tight against her bosom, correcting my flight. She deposits me on the take off platform where I started, urging me to try again. We all have to fly by ourselves at some point.

Poetry

Fragile chamber

Cold is the taste of your heart when it’s been locked up for too long.

Chisel it out, careful, careful

and throw it on the fire.

Don’t worry, it won’t burn.

Watch it thaw,

see the flame-hands nurse it back

squeezing out the poison haunting your veins.

Take it from them.

Firm grip now,

and push it back in place.

You’ll get used to it – it won’t always be heavy.

 

Poetry

Bookmark

I turn the page, resting my voice for a second

and catch your gaze on me, eyes bright

and full of delight.

You’ve said many times

that my reading voice is magical.

I wouldn’t have believed you if you hadn’t looked at me that way every time.

If I didn’t know

you’d never

use words that were untrue just to flatter me.

Your words are always true,

as is your encouragement.

As is your love.

And so I shall read for you

until the years catch us up

and I can read no more.

Poetry

Homemaker

I uncurl my toes from the carpet.

My stomach has a weight in it, cold

that rises to my throat.

It’s been there since this morning, after

I watched you hurry for the bus,

a smile lingering on your lips as I waved.

 

It only feels like home when you’re here.

When you’re not,

it’s just a place where I spend my time

running through the routines of life

without feeling I’m living any of it.

 

Home is where we will both be

in the future.

It’s hard not to jump forwards,

but rushing will only crumble

the blocks we’ve been trying to maintain for everyone else.

I know, once they’re solid,

we can claim our own, and make our own.

Our house, our homely home.