So the balloon of numbers,
so shiny on New Years Eve,
loses lustre on day two of the year.
What do you do?
Give up and just stare?
Or commit to the process that life’s not fair.
Come see with me, as the spring light fades,
a delicate pale dusk that hints at May,
a gentle hue that shimmers through
the retreating winter mists.
Come hear with me, as the birds make nests,
a caw and cackle from beaks unseen,
above me the drone of planes in flight,
beside me the sounds of nature stirring.
Come smell with me, as mowers emerge
from musty mould of damp old sheds,
to give a lawn its first shear of the year,
the encouraging scent of freshly chopped grass.
Come feel with me, the patio touch
of a lilac cushion, smooth bumps of rattan,
a still cool breeze upon the skin,
as fingers graze the pot-plant petals.
Come taste with me, this springtime zest,
let ice-chilled soda sparkle your throat,
the tang of past no longer bitter,
now savour feeling alive.
Remember what it’s like to sew your heart:
when you feel alone, yet yearn for love.
Stress will charge your fears, your pulse,
you forget to attach to what’s above.
A sewn-up heart has self-righteous thoughts
of revenge and shame and guilt,
the threads of life tie you up in knots,
you forget the power of your patchwork quilt.
Remember what it’s like to open your heart,
when you’re a blanket of multi colour,
resplendent in your everyday weeds,
ready to clothe and soothe the other.
Be forever open to heal your hurts,
undo that stitch, untie that knot,
challenge the feel of being hemmed in.
Don’t let life be a chance forgot.
Time ticks fast
my legs can’t keep up
my intentions are good
but my output ain’t.
The pattern of stars in the sky above my head –
as I lie on my patio chairs, feeling the evening breeze –
is scattered and twinkly,
but not distinct.
I ask them for an answer.
The lights from planes on their way to
destinations far and wide, flicker
and flirt with the stars,
evidence that another flight took off OK.
I need to know my purpose, why I’m here,
and why I keep messing up my life.
I look to the stars for an answer.
What seems to be a plane
is a star that shines bright,
that is having its moment
in the firmament.
I pray for an answer.
I look away, look back,
The stars in my night sky,
above my patio,
into the shape of a heart.
My heart that I must follow.
Tit for tat, we shout
insult here, grievance there.
Why stay together
when we’re both stressed out.
Blame is the name of the game
you think I’m playing.
I’m tired of you pointing out
In my wounded heart
I’m better off alone.
Heat today, hottest April record,
left garden scorching, plants wilting:
pot plant bowed head, thirst making humble.
Heat relentless, leaving sweat on brows,
blisters on hastily sandalled feet.
Sun’s heat, all invading:
down necks, armpits pools of
awkward, seeping sweat,
other flesh clammy to touch.
Sunshine welcome, lifting mood.
Heat dense, suffocating, sucking:
creating craving for whirl of air.
Weeds grow, inch by hourly inch,
loving power, stealth through hedgerow.