The tree still stands, your very own monument.
A well intended memorial yet incomplete,
the absence of the tree house conspicuous.
Its clawed arms lie upwards and empty,
questioning a deaf and clouded sky
and cloaking itself in leaves to overcompensate.
A magpie nests where we used to clamber,
hoarding its glittering treasures,
attempting to fill the void within itself.
I swear for a moment, I can see you
hanging by the tips of your scraped fingers,
a budding smirk on your earthy face –
but it’s gone just as quick,
the magpie’s beady eye meeting my gaze as if to say,
there’s some things you can’t replace.
Previously appeared on The Blue Nib, 2017.
What does the moon truly symbolise?
It was the first piece of yours I read.
Its words hooked into my mind,
tiny mountaineers, leaving a trail of fear.
This lunar reflection of mine;
her effervescent eyes trapped
in your carefully constructed lines.
Her sonata a striking omen –
a reminder of my temporary status.
Its cautious lines threatened to slice,
to dice my exposed arteries.
Back then I read shapes from leaves,
begging for the moon to spare my life –
to allow me to emerge from her shadow.
Too fragile, I was a hatching egg,
unaware that soon I would break free
of my constricting cocoon,
seemingly made of granite.
Cracks began to appear
and that’s how I survived to remain here.
Previously appeared in Sarasvati (42), 2016.
Little crescent moon –
Half formed, blanketed in black.
The phantom’s mask –
Your shrouded body
curls and unfurls like an old tapestry,
Contradicting your newness.
The shadow of you
Lurks in your dark stage,
a theatre so everyday
Yet so magical.
Trapped in a starless sky,
unaware of your impending freedom;
The murder scene you’ll leave behind
in your operatic debut.
The inkjet of blood that will not stop.
Previously appeared on Mothers Always Write.
My poem ‘Gain’ was recently included in issue 20 of the feminist arts zine ‘Artificial Womb’. Lovely to work with them again, after being included previously in issue 10.
Support them on Patreon here – https://www.patreon.com/artificialwomb
In our cottage, echoing in silence,
words became taboo;
inducing an early winter.
The snow fell in hordes,
down upon this town.
We let go
of our silent vows,
as its flaking lullaby began.
With numb gloved fingers,
we moulded her,
sculpting the perfect doll.
We glazed her porcelain skin with ice,
crudely poked in her eye sockets;
our own Frozen Charlotte.
We longed for her eyes to flutter open,
even for just one glassy glance.
Previously published in THE SEASONS: A Collection of Poetry and Prose on Spring, Summer, Autumn and Winter, 2017.
Three of my poems have been included in ‘The Seasons: A Collection of Poetry and Prose on Spring, Summer, Autumn and Winter’.
You can purchase the collection on Amazon.
For more info on this collection, see Collections of Poetry & Prose.
The poems included of mine are ‘Falling Leaf’, ‘Flowers Aren’t Always Restful To Look At’ and ‘Snowflake’.
One small day condensed to the patter of rain on a hood –
and you toddling along.
A still puddle, anticipating the stomp.
A wellington poised, pink and gleaming –
to ignite a watery explosion.
Horses in the field huddle, heads bowed,
their manes flowing.
They watch as we plough on,
pure drips trickling down our faces.
You look up, suddenly, smiling.
The droplets kiss your sweet face,
the rain blessed to share this moment with you.
Previously appeared on Cultured Vultures as part of their Poetry Spotlight.