almost three years
my new year’s intention:
to love and honour myself
I was afraid
I breathed in and leapt
into a free world
I unfurl my wings
free of the long time shackles
of a sham marriage
I can be now
breath in steam
from chamomile tea
dream my daydreams
without HIS bullying and lies
a piece of paper
crumpled in the corner
thoughts undone
reassembling
in words and lines
on a new page
inky twigs
and parchment leaves
fall
onto
a washed
orange page
hesitantly
stalactites creep
towards stalagmites
dreaming
of columns
a universal sigh
you get
the picture
disoriented
drawn by desire
pips fall to the earth
was I gone too long
now forgotten …
I hurled myself
into an abyss
the universe
caught me
by the feet
have I lost my reach
can I still touch your senses?
tentatively
she lost herself
his eyes
smooth pebbles
whirlpooling
I catch my breath
hold it close a moment
and hurl it forth
watching seagulls fly
into the blue beyond
the promise of new love
beckoned
she hurled herself
into making art
instead
Wayfaring …
the sound of the word rolls
like dance steps on a path
between two points
subtle fingerposts
marking the way
forward
ever on …
tread lightly
between the scents…
seaweed, salt, rockpools
cleansed by restless water
drawn by the moon…
So many have fished here;
thoughts wandering
over the sea,
high into the sky,
searching for signs,
reading the wind
and the patterns
of clouds
hoping for bounty …
piping seagulls
a counterpoint
to the breathing sea
I walk with a stick
wet lines in the sand …
A regular slight thunk
on the down beat,
slight flourish
on the rebound,
impressions added
to a sandy path’s patina,
I switch to silent footfalls,
a technique perfected
after reading a book
called Two Little Savages.
Feel your way forward
without hesitation,
slight variations
in the temperature of the air
that brushes your nostrils
inwards and out again.
Pelicans fly in formation,
their profiles
an uneasy reminder
of pterodactyls hunting.
Silent walking abandoned,
I tread bravely
on stepping stone dapples,
lichen colonies on dead wood
catch the light, make lime green
ridges and valleys out of grey bark
– will they hear the tree fall
when the wind blows hard?
Follow the shadow stones,
trace the curves and the camber;
a slight rise in the path
a swift flash of pink
on a fence frantically waving,
somebody’s skirt left behind,
the leaves whisper insistently,
thoughts sail up to the untimely moon.
Blue throws blueness
along a horizon …
I unfurl and breathe,
the white sun
shall be eclipsed,
obstructed by a tree,
as mackerel clouds
swim serenely
I stand right here
where the earth
kisses the expanding sky.
Heel rolls to toe
balanced on four points,
next foot now,
erasing previous steps,
as uplifting rebounds
ripple through the galaxies.
Riffin’ on a thick description – Take 2
so still she sits
opposite you
on an everyday train
watery eyes
vanish
into her screen
her perfume
conjures flowers
you’ve not yet seen
with shades
of pastel pink and gold
filigree edges
swirling in a vortex
chasing a future perfect time
underground
in the loop
sound is magnified
she speaks
sotto voce
her thumb and forefinger
expand her screen
her face waxes stronger
her brow smooths
she taps letters
into words
her glistening red lips
slip into a parted smile
as she presses ‘post’
her words
slide into a void
of gone but not yet read
you write
seventeen syllables
posted to Twitter
#haiku #commute
laptop open
he taps his phone
screen saver blinks
he strokes
a hollow surface
a slight eye contraction
a twitch or a wink
possibly faked
plump words link
piling together
unpacking
a thick wink’s
knowing
blinking
he rubs
a fingertip
over the corner
of his eye
because
the person beside you
has no idea the words
he reads
on the screen
are from you
bathers stitching
sky and earth and water
toes massaging
liquid sand lines flowing
saltness scouring
fingers forming ridges
gold rays folding
fickle slants and angles
soft air soothing
cricks and kinks and twinges
“Once, twice, three times”
palpable glee in the auctioneer’s voice,
“are we done?”
a pause, even a beat,
you can hear people breathing, shuffling
“going, going …
SOLD to the lady in blue!”
And so a home stripped of intimacy,
styled into an invitation to dream
changes hands …
Your heart is racing,
tears of relief spring into your eyes,
a champagne cork pops,
the intoxicating scent of bubbles
tickle your nose,
a sip of frothy blue
and yellow visions
of playful waves and sand.
Now the house in P_____ St is no more,
the site’s completely cleared,
you wonder why you worked so hard
just before the keys were handed over
to leave no trace behind.
Horizons beckon untrammelled
from a new place
where it’s easy to breath.
Thin ridges
are spots in the detail,
a plane of matter
and space.
Plays of light
sparkling,
vast surfaces stretch and compress,
thin places with slight tears fray,
bursting apart in
the points between
voids (not vacuums),
where life floats
braided in moving stillness.
Somewhere, softly,
a tear duct
lets out a thin trickle.
A ridge ripples,
vibrating upheavals
settle into new attractions
yet to be known.
a light show
white ribbons streaking
across the indigo bowl
applauded by rain
thunder shouting bravo
the thirsty rejoice
scent of sky water
whispers of rain
one cat sleeps smiling
another twitches his nose
catching the breeze
of abundance
Marousia 