Poetry | Stories | Photography
Watching the way colleagues climb the corporate ladder.
Whispers behind closed doors, muffled voices gossiping about such and such, and toxicity oozing from the walls.
Anger turned to disappointment. Disappointment turned to creativity.
The draught_of_giants hit me. With a pen on paper, I jot all the words down.
from the tropical north
snow and ice greet a stranger
no racism to be known
a calm freedom
watching the sea_thatch with new eyes
noises so foreign
to appreciate the difference
coming to love the ways of ice and snow
no longer foreign, my home
a difference in the weather
unforeseen changes
the moss carpets our land
the wound-starling visits
talkative, we feed our friend
a spectre may haunt us
the sound of horses’ hooves
soldiers on the horizon
we follow our friend to watch
a soldier lights a torch
fire licks and devours our home
our friend remains still
A quiet gallery
No need for words in this space
the photographs fill the silence
Taken away
Feeling the anemoia pulling me
watching a scene from the past
Loud thoughts
My thoughts are louder than bombs
thundering through my experience
entering as one person,
exiting as another
evolution in the gallery
The kettle whistles
your teapot and tea leaves dance
Lid and tea cosy
Dreaming after work
immersed in a Roman Bath
Loving Yorkshire Gold
Tea tickles your thighs
milk, sugar and tea inside
Rosy amber glow
Not one for gardening
you feel compelled to wear Chanel
a showy pearl necklace
An upmarket designer wheelbarrow
bedazzled gold shovel
Odd looks from passing strangers
The echo of her strident voice;
lost in the memory of that remembered moment,
falling away from the sorrow.
She leaves this trace of hate,
found in the memory of all that I had forgotten;
holding on as I use the pen
and the paper to write every remembered word.
The echo of her voice fades;
feeling like myself in the moment again
as the inked paper burns away.
Spilling your convoluted words
polluting the civilised writing world
Taking pleasure in re imagining
the critics dissect your written words
Passing away before your time
understanding of your words in death
Lamenting your words in death
your relatives profit from your courage
On an overcast night,
while the stars hid their light,
there was a manger.
No gifts from the wise,
although a miracle did arrive
in the old tin manger.
They stood by her side
as the light of the world arrived
in that tatty old manger.
Grief came in the form of an apoplectic outburst.
The trees ceased to whisper, the animals hid from sight, and the clouds dared not share their secrets.
This drowning grieving anger, tearing the self asunder and hurting the only one in the mirror.
Damaging the covering, digging nails into soft skin and finally succumbing to the loss of love.
C & K 