The Cutting Edge

Relationships are tricky, no doubt about it. We struggle, at
least I do, to keep stress out of relationships with friends and family.
It doesn’t always work, but I keep on trying to avoid the
pitfalls, focus on the pluses, and enjoy the people.

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THE CUTTING EDGE                                      

turn your head until sunlight
cuts the edge of sight
without burning -
easy to gauge

not like love
where, if you shift too far
ice cracks under your feet -
too far the other way
and powder snow
suffocates the self

the secret is to find
the angle of tilt
and hold it
balanced on light

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first published in Ink Sweat and Tears

A Dead Affair

Churches and cathedrals in Europe often have massive
stand-alone stone tombs inside, complete with
carved effigies of the dead on top. My imagination
runs riot over these long ago people … did they
know each other, and how well?

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A DEAD AFFAIR                                                

between two tombs
run whispers
(and him a Crusader knight
of boundless reknown -
she a gentlewoman
married and respected, say
the cold stone letters)

the whispers
(I hear them as I lean
against the children
carved below his body)
are of loins and tongues
long decayed                                                                     
ripe with lust

the bodies lie
frigid in holiness
yet colour paints faces, fingers
and there’s a throbbing
in the stone

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first published in the Cranberry Press anthology Delicious

An Old Song

Love blows cold, love blows hot, and every temperature in between. Love gets caught in head winds and struggles to make way to safe harbour …

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AN OLD SONG                                                                      

river runs under wind
takes sand    to the sea

wind blows over river
lifts foam from the wave

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silt moves through water
under my hand    to the sea

 

I cross the river                     
against the wind

to the place where hands meet
and lips touch underwater

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first published in Blue Skies Poetry

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to the place where hands meet
and lips touch underwater

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first published in Blue Skies Poetry

Dangerous Ways

This is the month of relationships: Valentine’s Day with all possible variations on love; the Feast of Feralia around February 21 when the ancient Romans honoured their ancestors, besides being Heart-and-Stroke Month and, this is neat, National Bird Feeding Month! Love can be dangerous, exhausting, fun, uplifting … a subject of endless exploration … here’s more …

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DANGEROUS WAYS

taking the string    I pull                                             
and let it lead me into thorns

I push them aside with bare hands
feel the scrape   scratch   trickle of blood
follow the string   straight in
to where the tiger
waits   eyes half-closed
ready   to open   its mouth
and kiss me

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first published in Ken*Again

Future and Past

We’ve almost got through January and there’s the rest of the year to deal with, the ups, downs, and sideways of it all; the sun and the snow, the rain and the mist … all the infinite variety of each day, month, or minute. Sometimes I just need to see this particular moment and no other.

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FUTURE AND PAST

of my three eyes
the first sees forwards                                   
to the path leading
over the hill

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the second sees back
to crevasses dared
dark places feared

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my third eye
sees up and down
captures galaxies
with a glance

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measures distances
from peak to peak
on the moon

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gathers lava
from the flaming centre
of the earth
and burns the road
ahead      behind

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Cradling

Dragons again. This time they are unhappy and in need of a cuddle, if you can imagine that. Thinking this way cuts scary things down to size, makes them more manageable, at least that’s my theory. Try it and see if it works for you.

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CRADLING

an armful of dragons
and nowhere to put them

I pass counters
beds, balconies, and chairs

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the dragons cling
to safety, nestle close
weeping fire on my t-shirt

a snout dribbles embers
needing to be wiped
the handkerchief burns

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I toss it away
stroke shuddering scales
until they stop roaring misery
and settle to simmering flame
on my shoulders

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first published in Big Pulp

Of Stars and Stockings

The time of year to go flying to anywhere and nowhere. The time of year to dream
of far away places, somewhere warm and leisurely with no snow to shovel (if you live in the Northern Hemisphere). You can’t get much further away than the stars, good to walk on, or eat …

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OF STARS AND STOCKINGS

I walk woollen-socked                                            
stars falling from heels
raining through haloes of colour
red, gold, ultramarine, yellow
puce, amber, lime, scarlet…
scatterings of improbable snow

I pick stars, taste them —
honey and lemon
vinegar and rosemary

planets crack in my hands
sing in my head
ragtime and ocean-waves

my feet flamenco
under the Hunter’s hand
the Great Bear bows to me

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first published in Alternative Harmonies