Danger
A rose-pink tip peeps
between dark lips,
moistens then,
like a flick-of-a-whip,
returns to its haven.
I imagine being
rolled about that tongue:
warm, not quite safe,
only a breath between
bitten, and death.
Monthly Archives: February 2012
A Pantoum: Hubris
In pity, danger lies.
I sense a weakening resolve,
yet recognise the foolishness of pride.
It was once the cause of my demise.
I sense a weakening resolve,
find the notion of the kill distasteful.
It was once the cause of my demise
when, seeing him, all I felt was scorn.
I find the notion of the kill distasteful,
balk at the thought of letting blood.
When seeing him, all I felt was scorn.
How he showed me I was wrong.
I balk at the thought of letting blood –
I’m above such atavistic sport.
How he showed me I was wrong,
he and his duplicitous love.
I’m above such atavistic sport.
The judge will honour my fairplay.
He and his duplicitous love –
they’ll burn in hell on judgement day.
The judge will honour my fairplay
or does idealism have no grounds?
They’ll burn in hell on judgement day
for he will see that I am sound.
Such idealism has no grounds –
he who dares, the winner in this world.
Will he see that I am sound,
or will I bleed from wounds incurred?
He who dares, the winner in this world,
does not care for moral rectitude.
I will bleed from wounds incurred,
stabbed in the back that’s turned away.
He does not care for moral rectitude,
stabs the back that’s turned away.
I recognise the foolishness of pride –
in pity, danger lies.
I know
The undressed limbs – lichen green against a vengeful sky
as if backlit by nuclear blight – they glow.
You forge ahead. I trudge in tow,
dawdling, lost in thought,
examining a gnarl, a knot,
a leaf unfurling cautiously in sombre light.
I think about the things I do not know.
Your solid form, your physicality, surprises me again
and that is how it was when first we came to learn
the way we are; all mouth and hands and heat.
You who, more than all, I know more intimately –
you are still unknown. Your powerful spell
that felled me early, spun its words and theories,
led me into dreams, carried me upon a wave of fantasy –
has grown less real – chased away by your reality.
Your quiet imaginings, your wild meanderings,
your tricks, the quirky sparks that jerk within
the inner convolutions of your mind – a mystery.
Instead, I understand your hips, your tongue,
your lips, your fingertips across my skin.
And yes – perhaps that’s all I need, for in the end
that’s all we are – a kiss, a touch, a quivering on bone.
Love is a leap unseeing from a mile above,
no promise of safe landing, the odds against survival slight,
for always spell-clouds gather, hindering sight.
Love pays no heed to history, nor cares a jot for loyalty,
rewarding only foolish souls unafraid of flight.
Our undressed limbs – so dark, so pale, in silhouette
against the moonlit night are all I know – we glow.
Snow
*
Under boot, dry groan and creak–
the squeak of cotton
towels between my sister’s teeth.
*
Brace (1)
A brace was once deployed
to straighten out my (crooked) teeth:
a barbarous affair that made me wince
and grimace in a vain, unsmiling fashion.
I lost it once, abandoned it rehearsing
for a role in the school play.
It lay, forgotten, on a book of prayer
beneath the pulpit rim, until my father
gave his sermon on the Sunday.
No gain without pain?
Might persistence have lead to perfection?
Prevented future dissatisfaction?
We are given clear instruction
on how to adopt the brace position
in our rarefied, cosetted world:
- bend the knees,
- lean forward,
- clasp the hands behind the head,
- pull in the elbows, close and steady,
- be ready
to absorb the shock of the (im)possibly
(not)fatal impact. I try it out at home
when back on (safe)ground- metaphorically:
- fist the hands,
- wrap the arms,
- curl up within,
- take up the foetal (em)brace,
- wear the bravest face
while we free-fall a while, for it’s certain
we’ll plummet into (at the very least)
unexplored and dangerous terrain.
No gain without pain?
May courage lead to victory?
Prevent future improbity?
He-and-me, we were a brace:
entwined, conjoined and interlaced.
And this strange place, this fierce
new world he struts alone with alien vim,
shaking his tail feathers singularly,
is new to me. I don’t know what to expect,
brace myself for the onslaught
of what is (most probably) sure to be
a fight I’ll be forced to (em)brace.
This new edit owes thanks to our wonderful Leicester Stanza group which met yesterday. I always feel so grateful that such accomplished writers are willing to read, never mind feed back on my work. As always it was a delightful afternoon spent dissecting discussing and deliberating over much varied, intelligent and thought provoking work.
Shadow
These words came to me when out walking with the dogs
down the old railway cut,
whilst mulling over early morning pillow-talk.
Millions of years ago this ancient place flowed with water.
Now it’s full of ghostly murmurings
and fossils that glint amidst the crumbling walls where,
in Victorian times,
engineers blasted their way through the solid earth.
Now
such an insubstantial thing-
by life diminished.
A mere shadow of myself.
