The Wind

After e. e. cummings  

i have found what you are like

the rain

              (Who feathers frightened fields

with the superior dust of sleep.

The Wind

A storm woke this morning

an anger so resolute,  

it shook the wooden garden fence

unhooked washing lines

turned over bins

dropped hanging flower baskets

and made me hold on to a lamp pole

struggling to keep my coat on.

I have finally found what you are like;

the furious wind

your invisible hands

took me

shook me

and bereft me, a torn, brittle leaf.

your intolerable storm offers no pole

to brace.

His Hands

Gentle hurricane

The thought of you

is a gentle hurricane

of sinopia coloured tea

conquering the pure

boiling water of my

mind,

your slowly darkening

moods,

taste.

His Hands

‘I hope you are well’

he wrote blankly.

I pictured his calm hands

on the keyboard.

His hands,

they have a wisdom and a knowing,

the knowing of when and how.

Time

Time, you said I’d never hunger,

you said I’d never age.

Time, you are the ticking sound of taking

the insistent claw always aiming at my plate.

Time, you drowning of rainbows

the contracting of days.

Ah to be five again!

Five

for Jori

five years old

she cannot stand being still

after bouncing relentlessly

on her trampoline,

tirelessly following a lady bird

climbing and descending leaves,

threading daisies into necklaces,

immaculately licking icing and sprinkles

off cup cakes - without eating the cup cake!

she stood in front of the garden wall as the sun

began to set and played clapping rhymes with her own shadow.

Watching Lovers

I watch them on trains

using each others' bodies for comfort;

She,

lays her head on his shoulder and sleeps

He,

finds in the curve of her waist a place to

warm his hand

They,

wake slowly, lazily from a long kiss.

I watch them in restaurants longing

for each others' faces from behind their

tall menus.

I watch them in parks,

                          walking long paths,

                                           rhyming their footsteps,

                                                             winged with future.

I wish you

I wish you on this dull grey morning

as I winter my coffee with sugar

and cream.

I wish you on this cold lonely evening

as I stir the thickening soup

sending you a thousand unspent

embraces.

When his face rises

When his face rises

in your sleepless nights

like the self indulgent moon

glorious and full,

turn away from it.

The peak of longing can be

as steep and curiously tempting

as a leap off the highest mountain,

it makes no sense to throw away your

life like this

but your heart yearns to reach the grounds

of this fathomless emotion

to bring this falling to a halt

to reach a certainty no woman has ever known

to see, touch, taste the ashes of your burning for him

only then will his tides begin to recede,

and you, become a floating swan, gliding above

the surface of your once tireless affection

riding his vacillating waves so elegantly,

flowing, ripple like.

Death Watched

Death stood outside

and watched

as your surgeon

with his guessing knife 

opened you up again

the sound of your healing stitches

picked against your aging skin

must have been as loud and dry

as plastic rope hesitating under a blunt

razor.

Reciting a prayer

I set night’s long fingers

to touch you

the velvet black curtain

that will not draw.