Care

Can’t save time,
only spend it.
Your currency; care.

Eye mask
so I wouldn’t wake
when the light came.

Water
on the side
clear jug.

I arrive
home
somewhere new.

Green square

Misplaced   
on the way here
until, when I arrived
there was no one

The thought
of nodding
giving
‘good morning’

I enter,
green mowed grass
swings and
goalposts

A square
open
today
empty

Bliss.
I’ll walk
it
slow

Yellow

The clenched fist rarely pays  
somehow 
it knows
to loosen 

Petals, the yellow type 
like their sun, round 
pale and gold 
lift

like fingers  
release, now open
to feel 
touch

soak 
then pour
through hard shafts
their green blood

Arrival
Into June
a soft month 
to be

Red kite

You used to fly them 
on a string
you gave to the wind

I’d watch you
Dad
chopping up clouds

You’d let me
under your arms
to hold on

Something
would grow
fastened to you

When we moved here
mum told be about these
big birds, Red kites

Moon eyes
earth brown wings
triangle tails

There are loads
overhead
looking down

I loved that kite
cause I knew
you loved it too

Maybe there was something
for you
at the end of that string

That these Red kites
in the sky
see too

Music

I am it
open
my heart gives
as the warm air
rises, a climb
beyond
bodies
to joy
I am spirit

Notes
strings
open then close
galvanising
flesh on the bone
to jolt
jiggle
feverish happiness
alive
in me

Colours
are colours
I have met
in a dream
only once
a taste
so sweet
everlasting
now
etched

I dance

Love doesn’t say much 
days roll
evenings patient with us.
We are vulnerable
that is enough.

I heat half the bbq
salad and cheese and hot tea
the cold is held back
early summer, new air
we breathe.

Give me only this.
Never strip
this stillness
for as long as we sit
I dance

Its ok

You jump up 
to be held,
excited
now settled.

I worry
when you get sick.
It’s not like I can ask
if today is any better.

I take my time
looking into you.
We can’t hold eye contact.
Don’t have to.

‘It can’t be comfortable’,
I say.
But boney knees
are rest.

‘What do you want’,
I ask.
Then you turn
and I know it’s ok.

From inside

Like a penny down a well 
clanging
until the noise stops
it’s value lost
to the pit

Anxiety
is in no way gradual
pages unfold
faster than a hand
can hold

Hope
lost
to a fleshy belly
feeding
from inside

Grounded hands

My hands are black with hope 
from living in the earth.
Soil sunk into my rinkles
of skin and mind

Memories. I am young
we are making cake
hands full of flour, sweet sugar
A separate chocolate bowl for me

Not much has changed really.
Still resist it.
Too slow to do what I should
too fast to quit when I shouldn’t

Leave me here
holding on
like we used to.
I remember

Common Stream

Clay drinks rain from the downs
like a sponge, till it flies
beneath our sleeping village
out to a common stream.

The bed is not it’s own
it only gives.
A being that lies not in the living
but in the honour of a life well lived.

It knows,
fate travels up and down its bends
only on occasion do the inspired young
have a go;

Waves break,
shapes form and flatten,
ripples open, deepen,
dive.

It doesn't last
a current too strong,
a word too loud,
a purpose.

No melancholy here.
Fresh rain from the hills comes
for ducks to wade,
fish riggle.

Jealousy? Envy? No.
Nor hope for a new way.
Love of place,
it knew all along.