Saturday, 28 February 2015

Silken Parachute - a poem

I strapped myself in, checked the straps were tight and secure
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

White Water

we swap words, easy, black on white
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

no space for grey

she dances on the chalk lines drawn on the road
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.


Sunday, 1 February 2015

Do you?

sometimes i find myself wondering if you remember 
that night your hands spoke more than you'd ever said
do you remember the colour of the sofa with the red cushion 
I hid my face in as your hands spoke to my skin
or that night in the parking lot, the one by the beach, 
the waves crashing as we spoke of stars 
and you kissed me, my fingers caught in your hair
do you remember that morning we cuddled up 
under the memorial to someone long dead 
the sun rising over a lion's head 
granite steps pressed into our spine, cold and unforgiving
or that afternoon on the mountain, clover chains and laughing -
walking on the rail tracks, keeping close 
in case i fell again 
and when i did, your hands spoke again and i listened
distracted by the view and the sound of the oncoming train
i misheard and mistook the words of your hands as the truth of your voice.
there was that space
just between your neck 
and your collarbone
I could press my face into it
and the world would black out
the sounds muted around me
weights lifted as I fell into the space 
eyes closed and breath exhaled

there was that space
but now... 
I can't find my way to it.

Thursday, 22 January 2015

I'll wait. I'll wait with my heart in my hand.
I'll wait. 
I'll wait.

And 
Then
One day I won't.

And that'll be the day you turn and stumble in your haste to get to me.

But I will have gone.
Faded into my own life.
No longer waiting to hand you my heart.
It'll be back in my chest and I will be marching to my own beat
Not yours. 
And you won't find me. 
You will skin your knees and hear the whispered echo of my beat.


Monday, 19 January 2015

A Box Of Sunlight - a poem

For Grifball. 
Because you asked.
 And my brain wouldn't let me sleep until I wrote it.


A box of sunlight

He asked for a box of sunlight, and, in time she sent him a box
wrapped in gold and shimmer. He opened it and found it black
with a circle of yellow, words filling it...

If I could believe in angels, I would ask to borrow their wings,
and as we passed the sun, I would reach for the light -
burning my fingers - to trap it, and its heat, in a box, for you

But I am doubt-tethered to this earth, and can only promise you a season of sunlight.
If you are able to pass through the darkness that surrounds you,
and carry that which weighs down on you.
In return I will send the Summer

It's the only way I know how to keep the sun - by losing it
in the snowy nights, and weeks of grey. To earn it
by marveling at the frost and the beauty of its cold embrace

Sunlight will return to you, so bright your eyes will tear and shine
and you will marvel at the heat - and in turn, I will ask for it back
and you will say, with burnt fingers, that it cannot be boxed -
it can only be earned by finding the beauty in its absence.

Thursday, 1 January 2015

2015


This is not a list of aims or ambitions.
This is not a list of resolutions.
This is a reminder of what I'm starting the year with, hopefully I'll get to the end of the year with more than I start with. If I don't I'm still winning.

Hope
Choices
Fantastic friends
A great job
The best son in the world
A car that works
A home that keeps us warm and dry
The ability to cook
An eclectic taste in music, food and clothing
A belief in the good of people
Trust in fate and karma
A little money saved
A beloved family
Support
Love
A good sense of humour
Time to myself

Friday, 26 December 2014

festive

I love fairy lights and spoiling people I love. I love the magic and the tinsel. I love the sound of church bells at midnight and the smell of cinnamon and incense. 

I love the smiles on happy faces and the sounds of laughter at stupid cracker jokes. I love family recipes and traditions, old and new. 

I love the carnage of paper, the smell of new books and lego. I love the sound of the skype ring tone.

I miss the people I can't be with. I ache for those who have passed on. I feel the gaping hole left because I live here and my family do not. I miss what it was.

I cherish those who understand and make it a little easier. A message here, a skype call there. A quiet hug and a simple nod of empathy. I cherish those moments stolen from their busy days and families to let me know that my family is global. My choices haven't been for naught. 

I thank the universe for Monkey. For his presence is the best gift on any day but especially on Christmas.

If your Christmas has been hard - I send you spoons... 

Tuesday, 23 December 2014

Moral Compass

my compass is broken, she whispered 
you became north, 
he rolled onto his back, 
pulling her with him

for tonight you're my north too, 
his voice followed his hands down her spine
together we'll find our way back
to the map, to the true north
but for tonight, we are all we need

her hands caught on his buttons,
because we can't have what we want, 
she sighed, sometimes it's not even on the map;
so we make do with what we find

because our compasses break,
in the loneliness of the late night