Tag Archives: comfort

Arianrhod

Arianrhod

 

We walk at night my girl and I
and talk of life and love’s sweet ache,
beneath a silver dusted sky.
 

Half-summoned by the nightjar’s cry,
uncertain of which path to take,
we walk at night my girl and I,
 

unhook and take apart the lie,
unravel every dark mistake,
beneath a silver dusted sky.
 

Answers sought in every sigh,
curiosity’s thirst to slake,
we walk at night my girl and I,
 

discarding every alibi,
false promises we now forsake
beneath a silver dusted sky
 

Despite nocturnal lovers’ cry,
soft-sullen moon upon the lake,
we walk at night my girl and I
beneath a silver dusted sky.

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Filed under Poetry, Villanelle

Ash Wednesday

candle 3
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
 

A single beat, a breath
since I held the unclothed
flame to the wick;
 

brief crackle of blue sulphur
before the waxy melt yielded
to cool, clear glass.
 

Standing by the stove,
you lit a cigarette,
apologising,
 

as you removed the tiny
tealight and replaced it
with crumbling ash.
 

Tonight,
hundreds of miles away,
I flickered amid female faces,
 

circled by the tinkle
of long-stemmed
wine glasses,
 

washed in the amber
swirl of familiar laughter,
and no-one
 

lit a cigarette.
 
 

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Filed under Free Verse, Poetry

Palm Sunday

hands 4
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
 

Sit bones settle uneasy
on ground glass and razor shells.
Eyes fix on unexpected horizon
 

kinked and wavering in the heat
of a new reality; the once sharp line
between blue and bluer now bunched
 

and caffled in blurred uncertainty.
Parallel gazes, oblivious, until hands
scrabble soft in deep, white sand,
 

fingers and thumbs sifting possibilities,
seeking equilibrium – finding it
in the upturned palm of another.
 
 

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Filed under Free Verse, Poetry

Latitude


 
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
 

Comfort creeps upon me
as I relocate garments;
unexpected stillness
settling on my hands
as I stuff ribboned socks
into drawers,
slip away new knickers,
fold cashmere sweaters
onto shelves.
 

Wrapover dresses
billow
in new spaces,
their delicate fabric
clinging
to extravagant
velveteen hangers,
thin shoulders
wreathed in relief.
 

Narrow apertures expand
to accommodate
shoes and boots
that had kicked
rebelliously
against the glass walls
of a vast walk-in wardrobe
 

and scarves,
caffled until now,
unravel;
soft bedfellows
languishing
with the hats and gloves.
 

Here
there is room for everything,
even the elusive raiment of hope.
 
 

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Filed under Free Verse, Poetry

fingers and thumbs


 
 
 
 
 
 
 
 

i like my hand when it is in your
hand; the folded newness of lines
tracing unknown radial borders,
distal pads resting plump in palm,
flexor tendons seeking creases
and the nascent swell beneath
your thumb as you unfasten me.
 
 

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Filed under Free Verse, Poetry