Thursday, 24 April 2014

Today

Today

A gospel of birdsong raises the sky
Adorning the trees, houses, my brow,
A blue crown, blue as an eye
The river adores my legs, 

cold caresses, soft whispering, encouraging and urging
on and on
And you. A dart. An arrow.
A kingfisher.
Catches my heart
Like a breath

Caliban

Caliban

Edges laced with salt guide him
through sculpted rocks
frilled wavelets prostrate themselves before his toes
as if he were an emperor
and they, bound by servitude to each humble toe,
hurry backward and away
The cave widens like a lover 

he dreamily capitulates, responds, enters
climbs carefully to secret sanctuary
A cave within a cave
Small enough for a man, big enough for dreaming in
concave, but with the smoothness of a woman
He dreams, watery scaly fishlike things, of himself
Half man, half beast
freckled with spume and the sorrow of abandonment.
The rage of slavehood running through him thick as blood, and as demanding
He imagines populating this chunk of land, lording over it,
Seeding it and her, soft to his touch
the island offers nothing in return but simple sounds
keening gulls, waves, groaning of shifting tides,
porous rock to curl up, in a tough heart-fist, and sleep
Crunching footsteps tell him
In his cavernous reverie
he is not alone

The Other Country

The Other Country

I can't think of your fingertips
Those silent whorls,
Worlds opening before me
I can't think of your mouth
Elegantly caught in the act of speaking
or singing or whispering to me
of love and sweet dreaming
I can't think of you, clotheless
and enfolding
teasing desire from me
like laughter
Because if I dared,
the edges of this continent
would stretch so much further
from yours
I might snap

The King of Morning

The King of Morning

The king of morning was broken by a woman
She took him in her gentle hands and ate his breath
Like a kiss in the urgency of a new born day
Sucked it into her mouth, barely chewed before swallowing.
As the king died and his life was washed away with coffee
grief was shared with a rain cloud
The woman knew that in her belly lunchtime grew,
growling and grunting reminding her
to feed him, goats cheese and almond biscuits
Sated, afternoon slipped by like a prayer
Her hands clasped piously, protective over her swollen belly
By the evening, holy wine was uncorked
Sipped, staining tongue and tooth bloody and red
and as the stars pricked through the sky, and the skin of her belly, like needles
The kings breath turned in her night body,
spoke dreams into her sleeping form
a shadow song, a spell, enchanting her...
Then, in a snort, a rough snore, a soft sigh
morning was again born a King

Ecouteur

Ecouteur

The buzz of a zip undone
a whispering ladder from groin to ear,
intention puckers up
nervously, on the beach.

A sandcastle bravely faces toward the incoming sea
The wind, the rain,
this lust, gritty and wild, abandons the turrets
laughing at the thrill of an elemental exposure.
So enraptured in kisses and wanton thrusts
blind to the hidden man
oblivious to his ears,
he who shoulders the afternoon in a half hearted nap
tucked up like a snail in a shell made of rock,
curly conch of an ear woken
and now, imprisoned by their liberation.
In the cave beyond the cave of their loving
he listens and holds back a giggle.

Birth

Birth

I'm so light
I move like a mist of becoming
A swirl of helium longing
A rainbow of remembering
Rising on thermals
through the skins of the earth
higher and higher
I break the stratosphere
with barely a ripple
A bloom
into the universe
a star
shining

Purification

Purification

Tiptoe on warm rocks
that slide, making bowls
with which to wash my feet
Salt smoothing the water
into soup
You are like the sea
a soft water cradle
washing me clean
of my suffering
Edges round and dissipate
I weave violets into your hair
Find kisses
waiting on your lips.