your eyes meet
the world tilts
and creases in the middle
making the wine spill
from your glass
you swiftly close the distance
and all the while your eyes
do not waver from each other
your belly is on fire
you want to rip off her clothes
and take her on the table
or up against the wall
you want her to be there
when you come home at night
you want her to be
the mother of your children
you’ve never felt like this
and it’s wonderful
as scary and exhilarating
as riding on a roller coaster
you want to know her name
and where she’s been all your life
another cliché
but you don’t give a damn
because you have just discovered
the reason for your existence
GETTING AWAY WITH IT
The map on the wall mocked his own tiny world,
a damp house on a soulless estate
where no-one was proud to live.
This place, this life, had nothing to give -
if only he had the money to get away.
But there were no jobs for the likes of him.
He was smart, but had no qualifications to prove it.
He’d well and truly sunk in a sink school;
even had there been a life-belt
no-one had cared enough to throw it.
The map on the wall ignited his imagination.
His head went to places his feet itched to follow.
He savoured the names as he whispered them:
Naples, Nairobi, Zanzibar, Saskatchewan.
In his daydreams he picked spices, mangoes, tea,
bartered for silks in a Casablancan souk.
In the end it was utter desperation made him do it.
When the police came and knocked on his door
he went quietly and they wondered at his smile.
He humbly explained that the money was gone.
The map on the wall is his prized possession,
an escape from a space measuring six by twelve.
They expect the system to break him,
but while his body lies on a hard narrow bed
his spirit dances a thousand miles away.
With good behaviour he’ll be out in six months
and taste true freedom for the first time.
He won’t return to that shabby estate.
He’ll head for where he buried the bag,
retrieve the money and go.
GONE but not departed
Ethereal thoughts
and hazy memories
sway in your mind
like a field of wild flowers
in a soft breeze.
Are you thinking of me?
Your heart
goes on beating,
your lungs
go on breathing,
But the machines
merely imprison a soul
that yearns to fly
Now you are slipping
into my dreams
telling me how time
has stopped for you,
that you are suspended.
between two worlds.
Gone
but not departed.
It is time to set you free.
GREEN
When they come for us
we shall be wearing
Nature’s colours
They have bulldozers
and chainsaws
Our only weapons
are passion and placards
but like blunt arrows
let fly against steel
mere words fall useless
to the ground
and passion alone
cannot protect
the rainforest
Mother Earth
stands by our side
and even she
is weeping
Why can’t they understand
that all we want
is a safe clean world
for our children?
GRIEVING
I’m trying hard to understand
why I can’t reach out
and touch your hand
I know you’re never far away
and though you visit
you cannot stay
So could it be that distant sigh
you calling my name
as you pass by?
Could it be that breath of air
your gentle fingers
ruffling my hair?
The pain is like a searing burn
the price of loving you
and being loved in return
HEALER, HEAL THYSELF
Struck twice by lightning
her dark eyes saw angels
and her pale hands were given
the gift of healing
for a while she felt blessed
She walked the planet
but there were too many people
begging for a cure
too many people draining
her life force away
The gift turned to poison
as the desperate and despairing
clawed at her
or held out their children
for just one touch
Now she sits in shop doorways
Now she is the one begging
Coins fall chinking into the hat
while her heeling hands
are clenched into fists
HIDING
The third house
was meant to be a safe house.
He set about settling
into the community.
New face, new name,
new credibility.
The neighbours marvelled
at his kindness
and how he
captivated their children.
For that
they could be forgiven.
For they were ignorant
of his past,
why he’d moved
from the first house
and the second.
None of them
could have reckoned
that this gentle man
was intimately acquainted
with the ways
of torturers and assassins.
Nor could they know his enemies
were rapidly amassing.
HOLIDAY ROMANCE
you open and close
your eyes
with the tide
breaking waves
pound at your pride
his promises lie torn
at your naked feet
memories of him
are bitter-sweet
you gave yourself
on the salty dunes
how long will it take
to heal the wounds
you call his name
only a seagull replies
you were another victim
of his practised lies
HUNGRY
We’re hungry we say to the moon
But the moon stares back
an eye in the sky
with no reply
as cruel in its coldness
as the sun with its killing heat
So we go on praying to the gods
The sun rises and the earth bakes
We huddle in doorways
crying over the ruined crops
tired after the midnight sacrifice
that went unheard again
Some dare whisper,
Are we praying to the right gods?
The moon waxes and wanes
and we are on our knees again
spilling useless blood and
ululating superstitious nonsense
Yet day after day
we and
our children starve
We are praying to the wrong gods.
IRRECONCILABLE DIFFERENCES
Pleading waves recede unheeded
as he walks along the shore.
He knows his love is waiting,
but his heart is breaking,
for they can go on no more.
From the sea she watches him,
sees the message in his tears,
the dragging of his baptised feet.
How can her heart continue to beat
if they have no more days and years.
They come together at their secret place.
Holding tight, facing what they must.
Their Utopia was as brittle as glass.
The sorry sky weeps a shower of stars
for hopes that have crumbled to dust.
As the sun rises on a new dawn,
they force their hearts to freeze.
With a flick of her tail she is away,
her goodbye dissolving in the spray.
His farewell floats away on the breeze.
JUDGEMENT
Time shatters
but nothing matters
any more
You know where
you are
and why
So here you
shall be
for all eternity
feasting on
the ashes
of a long dead star
KINDRED SPIRITS
I don’t mind
what colour or style
your robes are.
By all means dress
in brocade, plain cotton,
or even sackcloth
and ashes.
I don’t mind
how tall or ornate
your headdress
or plain your veil.
By all means
cover your hair
or your face.
I don’t mind
about your rites
and ceremonies
By all means
worship whenever
and wherever
your faith demands.
All I ask in return
is that you don’t mind
what I do, nor try
to convert me
to your way of thinking.
We are all the same
beneath the skin.
LIFESTYLE
She offers me tea.
I want coffee
but know better than to say so.
I know
that the water will be
fresh, filtered.
A teapot would be a waste.
The bag has a tag attached -
instructions to brew
for five minutes or to taste.
She puts out homemade biscuits,
vegan, I’m sure.
But I’ll endure.
The cup is placed at my elbow
on the cork mat
that protects the mahogany table,
and she wants me to know that
they are both
from managed rainforests.
I am not asked
if I want milk and sugar.
Neither is necessary in tea
that is muddy green
and smells of nettle.
I sip and nibble and smile,
looking forward
to the comforts of my own home.
I’ll open a tin of cookies,
put on the kettle to steam.
I’ll make myself a cup of coffee,
with two sugars
and lashings of real cream.
LOVE MANSION
If emotions
were bricks and mortar
how easily
I could build my feelings
I’d design a house
of well-proportioned rooms
with arched windows
and high ceilings
I’d be the architect
of a magnificent mansion
everything made
to absolute perfection
To you I would give
the only key
a token of my love
and undying affection
In a thousand years
it would still be standing
my Taj Mahal
built just for you
Tourists would come
and marvel
at just what love can do
MINDSICK
I was ill once
My world turned upside down
I remember when it happened
you looked at me
and frowned
I was ill once
Something went wrong in my head
I lost my grip on reality
you looked at me
with dread
I was ill once
I’m much better today
I came to say hello to you
but you turned
your face away
NATURAL ALCHEMY
Dandelions unravel
their seeds
of silvery down
Send them floating
on the breeze
dancing
to their destiny
What a way to travel
A wonder to behold
these dandelion dancers
skimming on air
to land somewhere
and grow
by Nature’s command
into flowers
of glorious gold
NEGLECTED
This morning I noticed
a brooding quality
about my curtains.
Years they have hung there,
opened and closed,
closed and opened,
with nothing to say.
But today
there is a certain something
that alerts me
to dissatisfaction.
And like a chain reaction
the carpets are joining in.
So too the bookshelves,
table tops and other surfaces.
All my possessions
are loudly objecting
to the weight of grime and dust
Seems I have betrayed their trust
I had no idea inanimate objects
could be so eloquently angry.
But I understand their meaning.
It’s time for some serious cleaning.
PARANOIA
Sorry.
I didn’t mean to startle you.
I didn’t see you there,
hiding in the shadows
Who are you hiding from?
Me?
Him?
Or the thing around the corner?
If you were hiding from me,
I’ve found you.
If you were hiding from him,
he’s long gone.
It’s no use hiding
from the thing around the corner.
After all,
you’re the one who put it there.
PHILOSOPHY CAFÉ
Huddled in a cafe in a rain-slicked street,
refusing to contemplate defeat,
old philosophers whisper ways
to put the world to rights.
But danger lurks in sugar pots
and in innocent-looking spots
on the rims of cracked ashtrays.
They drink it in with every mouthful here,
exhale it in breath made bitter
with coffee, cigarettes, fear.
Every word is heard, soon will come the day
when those word-brave men will pay.
But that was yesteryear.
Now young philosophers gather here,
so bright and so proud.
Young things exclaiming loud
through wine-fuelled nights
of how they will put the world to rights.
War is what they’ve read in books,
mistakes their f
orefathers made.
Never have they felt truly afraid,
nor cowered from gunfire in the street.
Danger seems absurd somehow.
Only lovers need whisper now.
QUESTION
She was one of my dearest friends
always there for me
sharing my highs and lows
so patient
so comforting
every day I miss her
and I’m sure she knows
As the illness took hold
I determined to do my best for her
she needed me
she was the patient
I the comforter
I tried everything
but I couldn’t relieve her misery
I knew when the time had come
she told me with her eyes
I held her while she died
impatient
comfortless
but she’d chosen the moment
so l let her go and I cried
Now it's just her shadow
ever present, curled up
on her favourite chair
still patient
still comforting
I talk to her and tell her
I’m grateful that she’s there
But I can't help wondering
if one day a loved one
should suffer such awful pain
out of patience
beyond comfort
would I - should I - find
the strength to do the same?
SCORPIO
He looks at the Scorpio pendant, says
beware the sting in the tail.
Such a tired joke. She sighs,
takes a sip of wine,
looks over his shoulder
at a more interesting man
across the room.
But for the moment this man
has her cornered,
stupidly sure of mutual attraction,
oblivious to the danger
her boredom will unleash.
She touches the necklace.
Molecules shift, re-sculpt themselves,
and a ragged form wriggles free
from molten gold.
Scorpions and Scorpios are
not so different.
They both have a sting in the tail.
Still he talks on, unaware
of the menace scuttling
across his tasselled shoes,
and up his designer jeans,
lethal tail upcurved
like a new moon
gleaming in a dark sky.
She glances with amusement
at his collar.
Now he sees her mutated necklace,
turns scarlet and gapes,
silenced at last
by a deadly tap on his shoulder.
She glides away, her pansy eyes
set on the other man.
We can only hope that he
pleases her,
that he is as entertaining as he