Poetry

We march forward one foot at a time,plodding towards the line that separatespresent from past tense,at times feeling the cold rain sluicingdown your back beneath your collar,until a wet nose nuzzles your armand licks your hand,and in that moment you feelthe glimmer of gratitudeknowing you live in the nowinstead of

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Across the miles I feel youwatchinglower lip underbiting down hardand wondering…yes, I miss you…And in the spaces of timereserved for nothingI hear you callingpointingto where your hair streamslike a wave in the waterhappy eyessmirkas you reachmany years awayone finger pointedto my heartwith a touch like lightning. ml-2002

We are the scent of sunshine,drifting, soaring like butterflieso’er fields not yet mownto land upon an apple limboutstretched and hangingverdant with the nectar pommeneath cotton wool and cyan skythat stretches far beyondthe waking call of baby’s cry. We are the breath of moonlightyellow streaks on placid pondsor winking through charcoal

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The song is blueocean wavescrashingagainst a topaz shore‘neath starsexplodingviolet – magenta – greenand rosebudsfluttertiny crimson heartstwistingin the breezebeneath his fingers and then… it ends. inky curtainsshut against the nightand tiny stars disappearin puffs of yellow dust. ml’23 (Listening to David Gilmour ‘Comfortably Numb – Live at Pompei’)

White wispsstruggle ‘neath navy capsas we honourthose who wear themin the wind and colda sea of poppiesat the eleventh hourstrewn on the tombof a young manwho never bouncedgrandchildrenon his knee. Today is pridememoriestraditionsand lumpsin my throat. ml’23

Wooden shipsbatteredbrokenon the beachin a blood red tideebbing the souls of childrento seato join the ageless sirensdriftingin the gardens of kelpmere yardsbeneath the marble stepsof a 5 star hotelredolentwith the smellof a thousand touristsbroilingin the sun. ml’23