Her Poetry: A Fatal Force

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Pure mountain rain is all it takes
To promise fatal force,
A trickle leaks from heightened stakes,
Rolls stealthily from the source.

It grows with every slippery bend,
Weaving in with murky pools,
It carries only clear blue sound,
Discarding matter cruel.

Driftwood’s tangled far behind,
So suck the jagged rocks,
Crushing cascade looming close,
A thousand lurching knots.

Our gentle lull becomes a sea,
Mutating with the hour,
Engulfing grass and river beds with
Exhilarating power.

Wilder still it catches wind
That everything will change,
A swirling vortex burrows down
And wipes away your name.

The ink is smudged and dripping now
In water colour, of course,
Out pours the fluid memory;
Out flows the fatal force.

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Her Poetry: Dreams

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Dreams

Extracting someone’s dreams
Is a very tricky art;
The smallest hint of contact
And those dreams will fall apart.

The fabric of your thoughts
Can be sensitive to touch;
When it combines with flesh and air
The abstract turns to dust.

Trickling through your fingers
Dreams will form a thick cement,
To penetrate their meaning
You must hold them at arm’s length.

To understand a dream
Is to catch a falling cloud;
You grasp it in the moment
Soon to realise you’re without.

 

 

Her Poetry: Clutching at Straws

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Clutching at Straws

Clutching at straws,

But what if those splintering

Pieces of plastic

Are the only thing

That reaches down to the depths

And sucks at liquid gold?

I’m told and told

To release my grip

And dip

A little bit further down

Into a different pool,

Not a pool of light,

But one that grabs at my feet

And pulls,

Hurls me down,

To a bottomless pit,

A pit that cries a siren’s call,

It’s death to us all,

If I don’t reach up and clutch

At those splintering

Pieces of plastic

And suck at liquid gold.

Her Poetry: Cracks

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The cracks and gaps in the pavement,

Don’t tread on them or you’ll break,

That little voice in your scurrying mind,

It told you not to tempt fate.

Your body will split down the centre,

Casting half of you here and half of you there,

With your heart in the dirt,

And your brain in the air.

Each bone will snap and litter the ground,

If you admit that those cracks are there.

Her Poetry: The Shade

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Shade

The Shade

Pin me down against the shade
Your eyes like holes they take and take
They sap the liquid from my tongue
The lamplight down, the blisters come

I know your name your name is mine
I know your game I know the time
I know it’s fixed, set to implode
I know the floor, the ceiling’s low

I grab the rope you pull back tight
The safety shore cuts out the light
The safety shore is filled with clay
It sets a mould and here I stay

Reaching up I grab at clouds
They shrink to dust and then the sound of
Thunder shudders up my spine
The stars disperse, then realign

My pupils bolder needing more
Summon strength to leave the floor
I’ll pin you down against the shade
My eyes like holes they take and take.

Her Poetry: Honey

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honey

Honey

Honey, down in the depths of the pot

It stops if you reach its core

The glistening dulls to a mucusy blot

That clogs to rot in the back of your throat

It turns to dregs but the barrel is bare –

You licked it clean of its salt.

 

The hand that grabs is met with a snare

But the fingers that linger are forever without

They open and close like the mouth of a fish

Gaping at bubbles of air

You swallow at rocks ’til your body is sick

But you know that the hunger’s still there.

Her Poetry: Sides

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sides

 

Sides

 

From the sides to all your stories

I’ve made myself a shape

It grows with every added edge

With holes that start to gape.

 

I stuff the gaps with fairy dust

And line them all with glue

But the sides they keep on coming –

For every one there’s two.

 

I bought a pair of scales

To help me with the load;

Decide the sides that have to stay

And which must surely go.

 

I bought myself a racket

I’ll stand in half a court

To bat the stories back again

And take the score to naught.

 

I’d take the score to love

But it’s gone beyond the point

Now the game is truly over

My shape becomes a coin

 

A coin has just two sides

But there’s a side to every story

So when I leave it up to fate

He’ll bask in all the glory.

Her Poetry: OCD

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OCD

OCD

Sometimes I look in the mirror

And don’t like what I see

My external self is so changeable

Yet I’ve looked the same since I called myself me

 

The difficulty I have

Isn’t with the skin, hair and teeth

It’s with my unchanging attitude;

My need to perfect and be perfect.

 

I’m doing it now as I write this

Criticising the way that I think

If it’s in me to scrutinize, to poke and to sneer

Then I guess I’m just trying to make myself clear

 

By failing to accept my flaws

I’m simply staying true to myself

Embracing the part that rejects the imperfections

And scathing all that’s imperfect.

 

Her Poetry: The Four Leaf Clover

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The Four Leaf Clover

If the four leaf clover is so lucky

Why does it stand in a sea of familiarity unseen

Alone, waiting to be plucked

From all who are the same but different?

To be greeted with such excitement

Expectations too high to fulfill

It becomes unreal, a myth, a lie

And yet it lies in wait

Hoping to be found, safe and secure

So it can become so much more

Than something so utterly fake.