Poetry | Stories | Photography
Sea pigeons do circle
The scent of methane, rotten and sour
dreaming of verdant green
forgotten by the world
sitting beside a broken toaster
kettle without a cup
We remember a home
to be of service, to have purpose
boiling, steaming, toasting
Idle
We sit contemplating
Waiting
Between human and ghost, the old one sits waiting for the inevitable.
A liminal being, he is already in a place unknown to the living ones.
His cats chirp and meow as if to say, “Hurry along, Dear. You might be tasty.”
He waits for the one who will not arrive.
Between strands of my hair,
the image of an idyllic grey-green scene
A picture of you on the wall
the coming of rain, wind and crackling fire
Images flicker behind my eyes,
you are out there in the world without me
No protection from a calamity
you will be well, yet come home soon, love.
looking out
a heart’s desire
cobbled streets
romance once set in
the visible sea
no sign of the ship
waiting for x to come home
the cut-out walls
clean glass for a short time
amorous longings
silence louder than a bomb
a heart lost at sea
impossible to cage freedom
all the more exciting
when x brings the sea home
C & K 