Lost

There is no way back

through the darkness of the woods

once the path is sold.

Time Peace

Dad collected clocks; meticulously winding, checking, synchronising.

Marvelling  in the mechanism, ‘listen,’ he beseeched, and held us still,

as simultaneous hours struck irreplaceable moments.

 

With reckless disregard we hurtled  through time;

complex histories mocking Dad’s imparted  precision.

Still he held us – a permanent pivot in a plethora of progress.

 

Alarm bells rang when  Dad’s clocks collected dust;

A family epoch ending, we watched his equilibrium tip.

Though pendulums slow, time must pass. We were ready at last.

 

Still now, we listened, and held our father close as time wound down.

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Tracked

Boarding the last train

she thought things back on the rails,

and watched life go by.

.

Making Tracks

Columns of beaten Crustacea, we shift across hot sand

carrying each one pinch determination to abandon land

throw anxious glances back to check we’re unobserved

in our last gasp endeavour to stage a smooth return.

Curved carapaces arching toward the pulling tide

cracked pincers raised, we dance our sidewards glide

treading warily, alien slapping waves in this aftermath

of countless million years without the saline bath.

Yet as murk and weed permeate marks of failure and despair

we leave the crooked path as if we were never there.

Parrot

I

am a bright green parrot hiding in the leaves.

You

cannot always see my brilliant colours.

I

am not tethered to a particular tree, leaf or twig.

I

do not shift according to your mood.

I

speak in swirls, but sometimes you only hear me squawk.

You

need not listen.

I

am no less lovely when your heart is closed.

Reach

Come as you are

Over the ether

Miraculously

Pay your ticket

Let pain drive

Express travel

Xenomorph

Must dare to hope

All together now

Stand with me, see?
Stand with me.

Summer

Performing players string and bow
under rumbustious sun umbrellas
propelled against the rain.

Clouds cracked by lusty voice
spill over bastion hills.

And we, joyous in our hour;
splendid wined and friended,
briefly bloom and rise to stir the air:

Balloons and buttercups.

Whistler

A beached drifter

transcends undefined horizons

of personal lost tides.

Ankles crossed,

upstaged by caffeine conversation,

he smiles.

Unhurried,

lip-cracked penny whistle raised,

waits his moment.

One note,

barely audible, sustained,

compelling.

Emotions opening,

wrung out Earth begins to crumble.

Listen.

Inspiration

I am with you now
fingers pushing against your bones
weaving and knotting vibrant fibres
through and over your cortex hills
sifting flowing
pressing your chin wrinkling your cheeks
cascading through valleys
of intense dreaming.

*

I do not see you.
As I surface, you shrink away,
diluted by functionality.
You are cayenne pepper, nettles:
witty, surprising.
Crawling, turning, I snatch at nought
and wait for darkness.

Promise

Beautifully bound

Paper clipped lives filed away

touching vows of love.