The ebb and flow

The Water's low tonight
The ebb and flow have got me thinking
Of where you are tonight
And with whom you've gone out drinking.
We had our usual fight
Insults smashed upon the floor
There was no wrong or right
There never is any more.
From the porch I see a light
It's Alfie on his way home
When I ask if you're alright
He says you left an hour ago.
I run down to the lake side
You always swim when you've been drinking
The water's low tonight
And from the edge I see you sinking.

The race of air, land and sea

Trees march like cattle
At the crest of the hill
And clouds roll to over take them.
In the tumbling hurry of eternity's pace,
The hill dips its nose at the finish line,
Glacier formed and still in the running.
A cut at the knee where once it stumbled
Only to rise and run rampant,
Incline to outcrop,
Foothill to cave mouth.
Breathtakingly effortless;
Breathless from effort.
This time earth means to win over water.

The snake

The lawnmower hummed and ended a life.
Head on one side of the blade,
Tail on the other.
No blood to speak of.
No notice.
No pain.
I went back later to move it.
Balanced between twigs
Like a pair of chopsticks.
The head was the hardest part.
So small and smooth
Slipping and falling as my shame grew.
Silly really, but something precious died
And nothing I feel will alter that.

Magnetic

He came upon her
Bright with the blood of youth
Flowering through his fingertips,
Not touching, but tracing her lines,
Each hair lifting
To meet his smooth hematite skin.

The birdtable

First is the sparrow
Nervous and stuttering
One on lookout, one feeding
Short wings flickering.

Next comes the starling
Boisterous as a teenager
Loud and brash on crescent wings
Squabbling and bolting.

Until with a chatter,
Down swoops the magpie
Too big but determined
cleverly finding an opening.

It's scared off by the jackdaws
Descending in pairs
With a clatter of caws
Strong-beaked and willful.

Last is the pigeon
Slow and grey
Standing in the water tray
Picking at discarded seeds.

The glance that shook the cobwebs

I was a quiet man
Socially awkward,
Digital pastimes,
Happy in the world
I'd wrapped around me.

You were a lofty gem
Ambitious and adored,
Floating through Winter
Wrapped in scarves
And silent music.

Together we trod the same boards,
Gave ourselves to the same cause,
But never spoke further
Unless strictly necessary,
With heads bowed and eyes averted.

The one day in passing,
You lifted your eyes
As I raised mine
And in the space between two moments
A spark leapt.

The Grinnifang

Wild is the Grinnifang
With teeth that ting
And claws that clang.
On cold nights it quivers
As it stalks its prey
With a tail that shivers
Every step of the way.
Beware you with the golden hair
And with your eyes of blue.
The Grinnifang is coming,
Coming for you.

There's no way you can stop it
Nowhere you can hide.
No matter the locks you put on your doors
It'll find its way inside.
Its teeth are the knives of the North.
Its breath the moist air of the South.
Its eyes are pale as the winter moon
And a thin tongue flickers from its mouth.
Beware you with the dark brown hair
And with your eyes of green.
The Grinnifang is coming,
Coming in your dreams.

The animosity

Again, the animosity
Flaring from you
Fresh and raw
And bristling ire.
What have I done?
Did I say something awry
Or forget a task or a shopping list?
Or is it just that I'm just not the right one?
Never quite who you wanted.
A stone in your shoe,
Uncomfortable,
But not worth the effort to discard,
Until I cause enough pain.
When enough pressure is put upon me
Then I'll be ripped out
And cast away.
An impediment removed.

Ladies and Gentlemen

Carefree and cunning,
The ladies of Lima.
Hearty and humorous
The men of Macau.
They gaze at each other
Across the dancefloor
Anxiously waiting
For the walls to come down.

Skipping stones

Sometimes times and people change
When sinking stones begin to fly
And skipping swiftly scattering light
And memories like a toffee hammer.

The Woodlouse

A woodlouse scurries, makes a break
But those divine digits descend again
Lifting it from its path
Placing it back in its cardboard home.
A world of dead flowers
And freshly picked leaves.
Back to where friends and family sleep.

The meeting

It was good to see you
Hungry and vital
Laughing at life
And all it contains.
Red lips and pale smiles
Fleet-footed innocence
The voices of children
The clack of toys on wooden floors.
The dream is still alive,
Reborn when we're together
That someday the fates will align
And shower us in bounties.
Always just a dream.
The next day sees reality.
Sees stresses, worries, pressures
And a longing for the next time.

The Taming of El Rey Diablo

Captain Clara sat and watched
The rain clouds race across the sky.
The sails were down, but her crew were ready
To set and make the Gold Lamb fly.

The Lamb was the fastest ship she'd sailed,
Light and frisky on the waves.
She could outrun any of the Spanish fleet,
And very rarely misbehaved.

She was born to skip the surging crests
Chasing a caravel or cog,
And at the helm Clara stood,
A young cat, not an old sea dog.

She'd built a reputation
For the speed at which she struck,
With a knack for being in the right place
That was more than just blind luck.

Like a swallow on a silent lake
She'd flit down at her prey,
And before they knew what hit them
She'd already sailed away.

But today the wind was changing,
For the first time she felt fear.
Sent to catch El Rey Diablo
And his ship, The Bloody Spear.

...

Nut and Thistle

The smell is the first thing,
Cobnut sweet and thistle sharp,
Two-stroke kicked and castigated.
Gravel scattered,
This heavy confetti
At a wedding of blame.
Wooden people air their thoughts,
One leaves as another returns.
Cobnut sweet and thistle sharp,
The acrid air coils in.

A two-cup morning

Birdsong and bad memories
Drift on the morning wind
Lifted away.
Nothing a hot cup of tea can't heal.
Cupped in bare hands like a baby bird,
Sipped in measured doses.

Branches bend and leaves turn their faces
As the dainty nodding of grass heads agree
It's not so bad, this life, this morning
And there's still time for a second cup of tea.

Running home

Her face is painted bright blue with nursery tattoos,
A caterpillar across her forehead,
Butterfly on one cheek,
Penguin on the other.
No reasons are ever required.
Running and slipping,
Skipping and skidding.
She rounds the corner and heads for home,
No thought, no brakes.
Pure energy perched on a pair of legs.
"I'm first!"
And she always is.

The walker

From the top of the hill he waited
As ragged breath found its cadence
And the clouds spun above him
On the wheel of a hawk.
Greens and blues of the world
Broken down into colour.
The heat of his walking soaks away
As the wind pulls in like a boat in a storm
Trying every crack to find safe harbour.
He crouches, sits, slumps
Using his pack as chair-back and pillow.
Where he is and where he's been
Are forgotten in the morning sun.
Only the route ahead is important.
On cue he swings and stands.
Second hand throwing the pack up
As he starts the path afresh.

Life and a Game

Calm as an apple waiting to fall
You played the game
Queen to King's Knight 4
Stubby carvings clutched like thorns
And blood welled from your angry palms
Hinting at fractures deep below.
The plan had not gone quite to plan
Fate bursts like a rotten plum
Each detail caught and catalogued
Each avenue explored and closed
Only one weft thread remains
One path to tread upon.
A consequence of all that truth
A labyrinth of your own design.
You stand and face the vaulted arch
The judging lines arranged en masse.
A step stretched out on Einstein's line
It's time itself can't take the weight.

End of an Evening

A packet of biscuits, coffee and wine
Bag shouldered and on her way
Spoils of another night
Door left open a needle's length
Scabs reformed and picked away.
A black cab throttles past
A lamp post winks the night goodbye
And foragers fill the air with wings.
She stands at the corner of Methen Street
Fingers spidered around an iron ring.
There is only one route to follow now.
She sets her heel to the dusty road
And pulls her woollen hat down low.
The city cats prick up their ears.
The leopard is awake.

The Bonefire

The difficult abstraction stood
And stole the branches from the wood
Left every tree bereft of birds
Bare trunks echoing tumbled words
While swift and true he ran the ditch
That led beside the loathsome rich
Piled the wood, let flow the oil
Carefully laid the peaty soil
Then rested every turn of the clock
Remaining 'fore the crowing cock.
As light's first feathers shook off the night
He rose and mocked their glittering might
Stood naked winged with mist and dew
Laughing as their arrows flew.
Answered their charge with a final spit
Turned and signalled the fires be lit.
Took up his horse and rode away
As all in that bonefire burned that day.

Acid Rain

Your words are poison.
Flint-tipped spears
That drip like rain
On stony ears.
Pedantic clouds
The perfect pitter-pat
Of rhythm erupting
Damp and fat.

Cooper's Hill

Steep and swift the falling lee
The drop that lifts the spirits so,
Grass as high as the eye can see
And a cheese at the summit ready to go.
With a roar the cheddar churns the ground
And cheesecloth shreds the brittle mud
As piles of bodies tumble down
With broken bones and scuffs of blood
Inexorably those packed curds roll
Like wild boar clearing a woodland path
That lactic gyre takes its toll
Cheese always has the final laugh.

Broken Bones

Of the mountains that we struggled on,
Of the valleys we never enjoyed.
For every step out of sync we took together,
Arrows from all sides, friend and foe.
The only certainty was forever.
We had our moments then,
You plump with the burden of life,
Me pretending help was sought by failures.
But there was too much underneath.
Every cupboard stuffed with broken bones.
Our child was never born to be our saviour.
So we agreed we'd never again contact,
You left on your road, and I turned back.
I thought any life was better than none, but I was wrong.
There's no one here to miss me,
Kiss my tears and take the pain away,
And no-one need notice now I'm gone.

The Goat

Let me tell you a story of whitest fear
A tale of terror inchoate.
In your madness to stop you'll bite off your ears
To silence the telling of ... the goat.

A spirit cursed to walk the earth
Barred from its rest below.
Death, the power that gave it birth,
And death is all it knows.

You'll hear at first its low dread moans.
What? No, of course there is no bleating.
This phantom wails the bassest tones,
A sign your grasp on life is fleeting.

A cloak of phosphor lights its frame.
What? Horns upon its head?
I suppose if there had been some game
Or a trophy hung over its death bed?

Where was I? The goat, oh yes, the goat.
An apparition from the grave.
What? On four feet like a stoat?
If you saw it you would not be so brave.

Its coming heralded by the rattle of chains,
And the very air grows stiller and colder.
If any of you fools had any brains
You'd run for your lives if you want to grow older.

They hate the living, the disinterred,
They hate those who wronged them in life the most.
Hang on a minute, I must have misheard.
Apparently it's not a goat, it's a ghost.

The Rite

The blister wells surprisingly fast
As you hold your finger in the fire
And I count in reverent seconds watching
Your bitten lip and flickering eye.
With a gasp you plunge your hand in the water.
Six seconds, our record time.
I worry I'm counting the seconds too slowly
But you assure me I'm doing fine.
And then it's my turn to prove myself.
To join the club and closer to you.
You suck your wound, eyes raised, expectant
As I move to the flame and pass right through.

The Painting

Why do you look at me,
Hand in your hair,
Recalcitrant gaze
Daring to welcome me.

Why do you sit
With that flower in your dress
Low-cut and leaning,
As tactful as sin.

You whisper, I mishear
You beckon, I wait
Careless and languid
My fate in your grasp.

Why are you still,
A painting in freeze-frame,
Hanging in silence
Your game has been played.

Inflatable

Two thumbs bruised
And skin removed
No other torture but my own
Perhaps too soft to work machines
A life of typing
Left me ill prepared.
I huffed and puffed
And blew my house up.
Pegged it down and leapt inside
But next came airbeds, sofa, pillows,
and my puff was not enough.

The Question

The great divide
A chasm of doubt
Which way will it go,
In or out?

The fence long ago
Fell in the sea
There's no middle ground
To dilly-dally.

For all the blast
And counter-blast
I don't think the true question
Was ever unmasked.

I never once heard
A single 'truth'
That wasn't countered
With equal 'proof'.

...

Two Thumbs

The zip stuck
And the rain came down
Coat held tight between two thumbs
You ran on tiptoes through the floods
To the sound of mermaids laughing
Hair dark and dripping
Smile never leaving your eyes

I loved you then as I love you now
Everything entranced
Water could not douse my heart
As I followed you out into the storm

Sports Day

Sports day leaps into our lives
Trainers on, shirts out.
A time for legs to earn their keep
Jumping jacks, jump-in sacks,
Drop the egg from the spoon too soon.
Who can throw a welly boot
Further than that big kid in Year 6?
The whistle blows and off they go.
All ages, a few rages
Heading for the tape
As the teachers stand and laugh into their hands.
The winner is Mary Marley's mum,
All elbows and exercise videos.
First by a nose, and what a nose!
She flashes her gums in victory
As her child shrinks and slinks away.

The Old Shoe

The old shoe sits
And drifts in the wind.
Hanging from the telephone wire
Catching conversations
With every vibration of its double-knotted Adidas lace.
Who threw it there and why,
I'll never know.
Was it a prank or a cruel trick?
The wind tells no tales,
And the tongue of the shoe
Is silent.