“The stories she told! I don’t see ‘er so well now, yet she’s in my heart still telling stories.”
“She must have been an interesting woman.”
“My Lasse, she was no woman unless women are made of water and shells. No, she’s the sea! The sea is the best storyteller.”
A wild wind howls,
cold and free from your aching.
The sea is freezing,
ice boulders sit lining the shore.
A green windswept
set of ancient mountains far away.
The sea is so loud,
calling you to stay the course.
You fall to the sand,
free again on your island home.
A dark room,
the smell of roses and breathing from the bed.
Alone and waiting,
wanting to touch; quickening from the bed.
A touch in the dark,
the room melts away and so do the sheets, clothes.
A play of shadows;
moonlight from the skylight, ecstasy in the dark.
A sea smell drifts across the street, into my room, and I am called towards the waves.
Drifting along with my favourite thongs and my togs, off I float away. The sea sounds sing a song of waves, boats, humans, and the thrill of another day. Dipping a toe, then a foot, then my whole I am lost in amongst waves.
bleeding from files stacked battered, bruised and banded together with six-minute increments.
beautiful flowers blooming from outside; bright and benign, together they beckon and call to me.
bleeding scent from the battered files, burning and blowing away from my desk on the wind.
Strategy on the wind
too much thinking about ideas she imagines the leaves on the trees turning into chess pieces
Shapes replace the leaves
moving rapidly, then falling or blowing away
So many shapes
falling and moving Strategy on the ground and the wind
Flying to no man’s land,
we fly along an endless road, flying towards another place.
Fear of the world around us,
we fear what humans don’t understand; fear of another death too soon.
Flowing water reminds us of the sea,
we fly towards our only home; flowing seawater, a lighthouse, quiet.
Free to feel to no fear,
we fly no more as our home is found; free to be vampires once more.
Too much sun,
not enough shade.
Flowers in bloom,
too many colours.
Too much light,
not enough darkness.
Birds sing and dance,
too many songs.
Too much Summer,
not enough Winter to take my heart, make it cold, feel the chill, the Autumn feel.
A clean, pressed handkerchief
placed within the right pocket.
A suit of fine Italian wool set
quietly upon a sky-blue shirt.
A subdued set of hand-sewn
patent black leather shoes.
A freshly shaved ivory face,
below a clean new haircut.
A note to Esther about
love and other things.
A glimpse at what
could have been.
and whisper with the wind.
the sky with light wonder.
soft as a caress, a whisper.
gather and move in wonder.
whispers softly to the wind.