Invisible...

Surrounded by brick. Fake stone.
I feel fake myself, sitting inside,
Hidden from sunshine.

I wish to demolish these walls,
Knock away solid barriers.
Invisible barriers remain.

I wish to be outside, yet protected.
I cannot be open, for then I can be hurt.
Vulnerable. Alone.

I want to feel the breeze in my hair
On the hills, by wave-torn shores.
Freedom in safety.

I sit here and dream,
Watching junk TV from my old sofa.
Dream of a future.

For The World...

For The World

I see your colours. Your every emotion bared
To my eyes. Ruby-red poppy oceans, Indian silks,
Saffron powders in deep brown baskets.
A dark hand touching the soft green willow skins,
Fluttering towards the fields of white rice.

I see the women dipping into the dark water,
Plucking your seeds. The men whistling death
Across blue skies. Picnics under olive trees,
Dropping fruit on cracked warm breads,
Fresh from the market oven.

I hear a final bird cry, a final dance
Of an evening masquerade. Women in their high plumes,
Striding out doors with dainty feet. Men dragging their smiles
Under a dozen drinks, created on the Irish fields
By the old men stirring their old potato stocks.

I see the dance in my heart, the rhythms of the samba,
The rumba, the cha-cha, the slide,
Ringing through the streets like the bull’s heels
On northern Spanish nights. The mountains echoing
The drums with their deep inflection.

You cannot see all this world in one glimpse.
Would you wish to? Yet I reach out and you grasp my hand
And together, we begin to walk. Over mountains,
Over seas. Over the rice fields, the markets, the city halls,
The sweet-stepped dances,
And deep into your heart.

For Love...

For Love

The love of a sister. The love of a friend.
Pure love. Cruel love. Chaste love.
A love you crave and wither behind,
Weeping solitary to the whimpering wind.
Cold, icy love, cutting to the bone of being,
Cornering behind shelters that you built
Around your feeble heart. Reaching
Through every barrier, around every shield.

It burns away the fairy-gauze thinness of mind
Until it hits soul, which it swiftly engulfs.
There is no escape. No relief.
Sheer passion, like the dancer for the dance.
The painter for a white canvas,
The child for Christmas Day.
Demonic love. All destroying, grasping love.
Never destroyed. Never grasped. Always loved.

For Your Wandering Eyes...

For Your Wandering Eyes

You hold a tiny child in your arms and see
How it grasps onto your hand,
Seeking comfort in your firm form.
It turns and gazes into yours, learning you
In a mere glimpse.

Bright eyes. Wide eyes. Not yet tainted by life.
Seeking to absorb every colour in an instant,
Gazing with pools of light, without fear.
Your eyes are smaller, shutting out the darkness
With an tear-drawn squint.

You walk away, one step at a time,
Into the darkness, wider and wider.
You try to walk faster, catch the departing train
By a second in an effort to extend your life.
As though a commuter watch is the key to life.

I ask you to stop. To slow and read these words.
You cannot read faster. You cannot think wider.
You will drop this paper to the wind and forget
As time continues, seeking a new second to destroy.

I ask you to stop and remember.
To widen your eyes to every colour.
To cry one more tear than courtesy allows.
To dance down a street without thinking or caring.
To wear fluorescent green and not care about the last train.
To watch the glimmering stars turn and for one moment,
Simply, sweetly, just be alive.

To A Dreamer...

To A Dreamer

You float.
Glide. Hover.
Your feet are pointed with their own weight.
Ballet-hardened toes from your dancing.
A camera clings to my palm. I film your dreaming.
Tiny storms wash around you.
Internal nebular tempests of poppies,
Rubies, roses;
Shining red apples lying in shining red piles
On vibrant, lurid grass.

You are craving.
Escape. Freedom.
To move your feet in the air and soar forwards.
Towards the prayer in your eyes.
I hear your rhythm. I record your dancing.
Capture it in my heart. Eternally.

Nevertheless,
The horizons contine,
the moving canvas
Of the heavens;
Pageant of clouds and stars
And the shifts
Of mystical blue,
Azure and cerulean. Ultramarine.

Your feet keep dancing. Swathed in colours,
Absorbed by life. Yet I hear the counting
Of ‘one’, then ‘two’, then ‘three’
And I think of your multitude dreams,
Balancing on your two tiny feet.

There are too many dreams.
Why we sometimes fall. Sometimes fail.
Yet we balance and watch our clocks tick
Away our chances and we smile.

And pray.

To A Child...

To A Child

I ask you, who are you?
You answer me with your name.
I repeat. You repeat. In pure simplicity.
Nothing seems difficult. Or complicated.
The red bucket and the yellow spade.
Barbie with Ken. Forever.

Now, cracks show on skin. Limbs askew.
Contorted. No longer a beautiful game.
No longer perfect. You see the audacity
As he walks away. Childhood is dated
By your thoughts. Yet the golden shade
Of childhood days linger. Simple. Perfect.

Forever.