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.

Future

To take a chance.
Reaching out,
With one atom,
To grasp a moment
And take another step.
Forward.
Or backward.
Do you know?

The wall is ticking.
Floors creaking
Under her feet.
Under his feet.
Under its feet.
This is your life.
Happy?
Or not?

The wall is ticking.
Stairs creaking.
Step. Step. Step.
You feel an atom.
Hitting your skin.
You smile.
Turn.
Touch.

To take a moment,
And stop the wall
From ticking.
Happy?
Perhaps
You take a step.
Just to stand,
And smile.

For a Moment

White paint runs down walls
Like your tears.
Covering your lurid dreams
With a new start.

You are starting again.
Chucked out the old bed,
The vase, the dried flowers
From your grandmother’s place.

‘Stand still’, a voice whispers.
A voice in the floor. In the air.
The paint falls to the floor. Now,
It hides your wooden memories.

Last time, you promised yourself
That this would be it.
The better time. The perfection.
The ideal. Guess what.

Turn, walk, click, pour.
Teabag steaming gently.
You lean. Sigh. Sip.
A smile.

Tonight, you will stare
At the white ceiling, painted
Stark yellow with halogen paint.
And remember.

This is meant to be it.
Everything better.
Not. Never.
But fine.

Soon, another note on the door.
‘Buy paint’, it reads.
‘Next year blue’, you think.
Another tear on the wall.

For a Thought

I am thinking. Perhaps of you.
Perhaps not. I watch time go by.
My skin turns cold, watching.
Morning falls. Night sun rises.
I see you walk past. Alone.
Always looking down, perhaps
For a penny coin.
I place one in your path.
You don’t stop.

An old man, walking stick,
Battered. Leaning heavily
On the floor. Your eyes droop
As though your skin were crying.
I smile. Your gaze falls.
Limp onwards,
Tarmac on feet.
One step at a time.
No more.

A young woman, red hair tied
Roughly. She was a little girl once,
With a red ribbon. Now she wears a
Sari. Bindi glints in the light.
Out of place. Beautiful.
No grace. She clops
In wooden shoes.
Small room. Rented.
Alone.

I am thinking of you.
Reading this. Our one connection.
You are thinking. Perhaps smiling.
Perhaps deeper. My thoughts
Are of this world.
Are part of you.
I am a part of you.
I know your name.
You.

The Fight

Metal glinting. Red hot
On an open fire.
Steaming, falling into flame.
Shaped. Cooled. Formed.

A hand holds its smooth hilt.
It swings in an arc,
Slicing the air.
Bend. Twist. Swivel.

You hold an invisible sword,
Stabbing gently with your words.
You pray that you are heard.
Loudly. Strongly. Clearly.

You hold your fears behind you.
This is no time to be afraid.
Stepping forward, towards the line.
Breathe. Think. Run.

Chasing ever forward. You wish
You could remember what to do.
What to say. Swift silence falls.
You step. Step. Step.

I see your weakness, under your steel.
Your fear. Your cowardess.
You dream of sharp words.
They are blunt. Flat. Soft.

You pretend to be proud.
Perfectly formed. Steely clear.
Pounding ground. Beating blood.
Now you.

The Kiss

Two people, standing in a puddle
Of concrete. Transfixed to each other
In eternal gaze. They lean and brush the air,
Never able to reach out and touch
Arms, eyes, hands, lips.

They move like dancers, feet solid,
Eyes turning their feet and raising them
Above the earth. They lean and touch
Arms, eyes, hands, lips,
In eternal grasp.

You crave eternity, just as all humans do.
Crave a touch, crave atoms clinging to atoms
With ethereal power. A boundless ocean
Of sky greeting each touch with a starlit moment.
One for each star in the sky.