The bubbles in my glass are rising up and up.
The breath of invisible fish
tickles my palate.
Tag: poetry
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Eye to eye
When I look at an iris
I don’t see eye to eye with it.
Not even if I crouch down
and level with it,
and stare at it.
For all its name,
all it can do is reflect the light.
Beautiful colours, but pointless and utterly blind.
Now my irises
have black holes into the space
that can suck up the light
and give that iris
its name and face. -
It’s a brave new world
The world that is travelled together
is a new world.
A new world for the new explorer.
Before you
I was fearless.
I used to teach my friends how to drive
because I could sit next to them
and quietly suggest attending to the brake
when the breaking distance was no longer certain.
They appreciated that.
I used to go up to high places
and dangle my feet over the abyss,
enjoying the view.
No more.
I have to survive to protect you.
I have to be careful.
I cannot take stupid risks.
I never had nightmares before –
at least not the ones I could remember.
I have nightmares now.
I dream that something happened to you,
that the absurd indifference of the world
that destroys so many
caught up with you.
I wake up with a start,
drenched in sweat,
my heart racing.
I can no longer afford the freedom born of indifference.
The freedom to tell the world to fuck off and leave its emptiness behind.
It is no longer empty because you are in it.
You fill it to the brim
with fear of death and injury
and courage to face the possibility of these
because I have to take you places.
With anger and tenderness,
sadness and happiness,
love and regret.
With all those feelings that push and pull me
and limit my choices.
I can no longer be that person
who was light and free and empty
because you fill me to the brim.
Good riddance. -
Philosopher’s Stone
There is not much point in stealing gold –
gold is a soft metal, not very good for tools or utensils.
It is given value by people who can shape it and make it talk.
I do steal shapes.
I hoard them in my library,
I pore over them, hunched, giggling, rubbing my hands together.
I line them up and recombine them
and when I hit a lucky combo
my giggle turns into a laugh.
That’s when I take the new shape out
and get you to look at it
and the light of your eyes
turns the base metal into gold. -
Interfaces and how to face them
Interface
is the only place
to face anything.
Inside is unfathomable –
you cannot plumb the depths from inside the sea.
Outside is unknowable –
you cannot know what you cannot perceive.
The only place
to know and see
is the interface –
the waves on the sea:
the drops of rain, creating the rings;
the sight and touch, embodying things;
the warmth and breath, infusing life;
the pull and press,
the push and strife.
At the interface
there is rough and rub
which, we have to face,
is the nub. -
My Valentine
We’ve been together so long –
I don’t know how to be without you.
Your anniversary and birthday presents
are always crooked.
I am rubbish at wrapping them
because they are the only presents I ever wrap.
But I can learn.
Even with a bit of luck
I wouldn’t be able to laugh all the way to the bank
because I have no idea
where it is.
But I can learn.
I wouldn’t know the first thing about
fixing a boiler
or getting a loan
or booking a hotel
But I can learn.
I feel uncomfortable sleeping on my own
and wake up often.
But I can learn.
What I am terrified of is that one day
I will have to learn to breathe without you
and I will suffocate in the void. -
Look-see
Cherries soaking up the sun –
semi-transparent,
sumptuous,
filled with liquid sweetness…
Roses taking the light full-on –
harsh contrast between the petals,
drama concretised in colour…
A fly –
black hole in space,
consuming the light completely,
transforming it into boundless energy,
incessant buzzing.
A quiet afternoon
with time
to look and see. -
Is it some kind of Zen?
The point that is worth recapping:
the sound of one hand clapping
is something that you can hear
with half an ear.
