substitution
at midnight
I find myself
in your sleeping
in your shallows
your tilt your pucker
in the creases
and the talcum
of your skin
in your depths
your flail your clasp
in your loaming
and the ripening
of your seedling limbs
Buddy
Spent all weekend taking part in a #52hrFilm challenge and made this visual poem based on a quickly penned piece of flash fiction.
Such fun and great weather!
Things that we lost
a point from last Thursday now etched in a line on my left hand
Palms up
I just don’t know
how he got here
recumbent in a sea
of gulls pulling at
crusts that an
old lady has spread
like happiness across
the pavement
in an effort to add
colour and kindness
to her morning
He holds his palm out
asking for one thing
my own doubt
obvious as I offer
him a hot drink or
a snack instead
He shrugs but smiles
thanking me and listing
lunch deal items
I redden and
wave my hands
in a gesture
that is empty of words
but replete with
body language
and sandwich filling
choices made for him
this man on the corner
of a street that
I walk down almost
every day of the week
The next time he
asks me for a Crunchie
he has remembered me
like a hand keeps
stories nooked in
the crannies of its skin
Sitting under a blanket is the best thing you can do between October and April
My crochet blanket smells of toast
It isn’t that it’s not been washed
it just embodies comfort
and catches the dreams
that fall out of me
while I am dozing
Because the radiator is turned up
very hot
and I am like a lizard
that crochets
and has orange hair
Sometimes I stick my tongue out
to catch crumbs
while I wait for spring to reappear
Light always follows
There’s comfort in the sound
of the first bird
that calls from the dark
in the absence of cars
in the vacuum of space
that sits in the place somewhere
between 4 and 5am
There’s comfort in knowing that
yesterday will not be coming back
that those lessons learnt
last year
last month
or just the week
before are done with
Even though more will be lurking
like black cats bringing the lie
of magic or death
There’s comfort in the breath
from an unknown body in your ear
when the fear of intimacy
is far scarier than
a walk of shame
red cheeks the embers
from the night before
There’s comfort in forgetting
and then also of remembering
that we’re all
just making up a story
as we slide through life
and the ones about the other
serpents in our circle
are tiny slices
Or at best just drawn from memory
and only recognisable to
our own small ego
There’s comfort in
and comfort outside
the box and most of all
in letting go of boxes
that we place between ourselves and others
though it’s a harder path to take
it’s one I’d like to get to know
There’s comfort in the sound of
The first bird that calls from the dark
In the absence of cars
In the vacuum of space
That sits in the place somewhere
between 4 and 5am
Please Hear What I’m Not Saying
Just incredibly proud to be one of the poets featured in this wonderful anthology of poetry that is raising money for MIND. Please Hear What I’m Not Saying is available now from Amazon.
Salt Lake
Very pleased to have been long listed in the winter Reflex flash fiction competition. You can read my story Salt Lake here. The story will be included in an anthology of long listed submissions later in the year.
On view 