Away

Half light five am
when the bus comes to take us:
where are we going?

Hotfoot

Thing about souvenirs of time gone past
you make to move they try to hold you fast
the hands they used to tie her with their warnings to the gate
brought out the knife to cut her tether and a reason for escape

There is no running when your feet are bound
those too full arms will pin you to the ground
she would wear no shoes of lead now or the wishes of the dead
now running free was playing on her cards and dancing in her head

Turns out running is a thing she had to do
because this life was in a hurry she was too
she ran till no-one tried to stop her then she stopped –

Thing about travelling life so hard and fast
is the love you leave behind your running past.

Birthday Wishes

This is your day
swing in and stay a while
toss your coat on the banister
pull up a banjo
jam to the sound of your
upbeat life

You got this far
everything said and done
taste the chocolate drama cake
butter icing boy
cut yourself a slice of
paradise

Now is the time
your options are opening
don’t tinker around the edges
take it away
wear a shiny hat and
go fly high.

48 Hours

Round we go
and then
round we go again

Roots

This tree does not grow straight
but arcs and bends
honouring its earthly pact

Likewise, lives are not line props
not linear answers or roads of crow

Rather, we are shaped to wend and roll
haywire, globose, melding and merging
doubling back to blend and kneed

We are guardians of an eccentric past
seasoned by inaccuracies
rendered imperfectly real
by our inconsistent insistence

If we continue to sway this way
by the time we reach a round return to here
I will be knotted and gnarled
you may be old, softened or rotten

But we are not arrows shot by a bow
destined to forsake our roots
so we will likely cross again
I understand that now.

Views from the Motorway – part II

Red Kites slice twilight skies:
waiters serving cloud cup cakes
upon fine forked tails

Views from the Motorway – part I

Naturist cyclists
pedalling furiously
shiny bells jangling

After All

Collectables wrapped in old news
belongings boxed bartered and bargained for
four walls dispensed with
essence scattered
guiding light ignited
now the real adventure begins!

The Choosing

Angry as a woman ever was—
her file of life a medical lexicon
she left it all behind and plunged into the sea
assaulted by bitter rainfall on her weeping skin
body escaping from confines of wet crumpled clothes
and hair of seaweed falling through galloping waves.

All things come to an end and even pain
with all its earthly wires and strange responsibility
cannot hold us unless we will consent to stay
to keep human vigil for those who choose to swim away.

Ode to Peace

In a city park 
beneath the weeds
where bearded men
feed birds with seeds
and pale faced mums
talk to their mates
on mobile phones
while children wait
there is a rustling
and a quaking
like a creature
re-awakening
dark shadows shift
and people run
not understanding
what is come
but sit a bit
upon this seat
and let peace curl
around your feet
if people stare
just wave and smile
it will not hurt
to rest a while
and when you’re set
to move away
know peace is with you
through your day.