Tag: poet

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The Midnight Drive

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Being blinded by the early evening sun, I drove into the hospital grounds, searching for a space, any space in which to squeeze my car; this seemed such a long time ago as I stood in the dark, with space all around and only one vehicle to be seen – which was mine. I had entered the hospital grounds in sunlight but left under emptying clouds; I did not want to leave my son back there, struggling to survive, fighting for air. Go home the nurses said, go to bed, get some rest, come back fresh in the morning. Where … Continue reading The Midnight Drive

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Four Matches

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‘I done it,’ he called up the stairs. ‘I used four matches – all at once,’ he added. I zipped up and charged down, a deep bass drum pounded inside my chest, and there it was, in all of its flickering amber glory, growing, climbing the sooted chimney, before my white-soled sandal stomped its frightened authority on paper and kindling. As it crackled and spat, and fire clung to my scarred sole, extinguished only by a dance on the tiled hearth, and I asked, ‘What d’you do that for?’ And my little brother replied, ‘Coz you couldn’t do it with … Continue reading Four Matches

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My Only Home Town

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Walking the streets in the small country town I see memories in each pavement crack, all the fun and laughter the here ever after in the place I know as my only home town. I could have stayed but decided to leave memories of my own in the place that is my one and only home town. The river flows past my old country town I hear the ghosts as laughter floats by beneath the white bridge where we played in the sun beside the place I know as my only home town. I should have stayed I decided to … Continue reading My Only Home Town

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Waking

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When he opened his eyes to a snow-tipped peak the only love of his life is missed those sparkling mountain tops all hikers seek brought to life her eyes and the lips he once tenderly kissed. His lids lifted to a tranquil blue lake still as ice before the day had begun early birds soared high, no sound did they make all day he would mourn, beneath the warm sun. The rays slashed colour across the wide skies horizon of purple, orange and pinks an unused pillow drew tears from his eyes the bed’s icy space, his heavy heart sinks. … Continue reading Waking

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A Dream World?

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A world was built in violence, that became a creation of beauty, of peace to become a habitat for all living creatures. A home was built a sanctuary for coexisting, for loving each other not a place for hate. A sadness pervades much that has been built homes become squalid, destroyed  sanctuary becomes a danger peace becomes war. But… we build again a home a sanctuary a peace loving world, and hope and pray that hate will become an extinct word of nightmares. Continue reading A Dream World?

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A Perfect Imperfection

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Even his imperfections were perfect perfect imperfections made in such a way that the imperfections the… disfigurements, flaws, deformities were all perfect they blended, contrasted, merged to create a flawless whole. Imperfections that were incompatible opposed to life unsuited to the here and now not in accord with the there and then. The perfect imperfections took flight became what they could not be his journey was short but a perfect one became… eternal. March It was such a long time ago. The pain once felt is a thing of the past yet when I think about him, my special little … Continue reading A Perfect Imperfection

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Seasons

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Bluebells in the meadowreflected the colour of her eyesas they laid togetherunder fresh spring skies. Months were long when summer cameand the sun glistened in her hair.They sat on the rivers edgetogether, without a care. Autumn called with jewels of gold,their lips came together under weakening rays.They kicked and laughedrunning through the cooling days. They wanted forever and a dayuntil winter brought a mighty chillto the love that was growingbut now, lay dead and still. Continue reading Seasons

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How I Loved

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How I loved those cosy winter evenings, with the screeching wind  slamming rain onto the living-room window. Me and my brother in pyjamas,  dressing-gowns pulled tight, snuggled into the warmth of our mum,  as she hugged us close, and heat from the glowing coals  tingled my unslippered toes. But how I hated the rolling of the closing credits of the latest Columbo mystery, knowing it was nearly time to leave the only heated room in the house. Continue reading How I Loved