Monday, 6 April 2015
Sunday, 5 April 2015
I passed on the way home late last night when it was too dark to drive
Especially when you're me and don't like how the car hugs the white line,
Feeling like it should be following the stars, the flashes of amber and red
Sprinkled on the water in the lagoon and reflected on the black eyes of the houses.
It came to me, then, at that inlet near the place you drove to, so many years ago now
That it's less a memory, it's a daydream of a time that may only exist in this space
Between a glass of wine and the remains of something unrecognisable in the absence of life,
It came to me that you are best left there, at the inlet. Because the tide will take pieces of you
With it and eventually, I won't drive past here, holding my breath and waiting for my car
To follow yours into the high tide, to be with you.
It came to me there, because you are now unrecognisable in the absence of life.
Saturday, 21 March 2015
I sat, under the plastic roof,
Rain tiptoeing down the grooves.
Warmth held tight in my hands,
Thoughts of you not far from my heart.
My name in your voice was murmured by the wind,
As the leaves caught the tears I should have shed.
At the edge of the day I sat, watching the sun fight the clouds.
At the edge I sat, watching it win, willing it to win. For us.
Saturday, 28 February 2015
And gasping a deep breath, I jumped.
Rather, I tried to jump so I'd be clear of entanglement
But I stumbled on the run up
Caught myself in the words around my feet
The ones you'd put there for me
Words you'd spoken, quietly from behind a sad smile,
And placed with care in intricate patterns
I could have missed them had your voice not caught my attention,
Distracting me from checking where to put my feet, before running,
They caught me and I fell into your words, eyes and arms,
The silken parachute a different form of safety and escape.
Saturday, 21 February 2015
thoughts and ideas, hopes and dreams
fall out of our minds and onto white on black keys
we go with the flow, wading out beyond our depth
catching thoughts as we move downstream,
knowing that the safest waters are upstream
near the banks, on solid ground
but as we drift, we lose sight of the banks,
holding our breath, we plunge beneath the rapids,
reveling in the false calm underneath the swirling waters
we wait until the very last gasping second before we surface
clinging to the last time we saw the banks, clinging to the knowledge that they are still there
before we bump our heads on the rocks or catch the current to the other bank.
Thursday, 12 February 2015
white on black - no space for grey -
she tiptoes along the road, stopping to see the way home
to the place she knows so well
she follows the white on black
to see where she ends up this time
hoping that if it hurts, she'll be able to go back.