Sunday, 20 October 2019

The lizard ran out
He sat on a rock
and looked up
checking the progress
of the sun.
It suited him
so he stayed
and stayed
soaking up the warmth
but alert
only moving when disturbed
by food
or danger
moving quickly then
into his hideaway.

Friday, 18 October 2019

The Breathing Days
In the days when I still breathed air,
the days before
living took my breath away,
the days before
I knew my soul was there.
I thought about this time,
this time of no light,
the forever night time
with no breath, no air
to breathe.
Just dust and darkness.
And I pondered.
Would there be slow decay
or fast.
Stillness or movement.
Now I know.
I know everything about
the dust and darkness.
But I can't tell you.
Not now
in these days
of no breath,
no air
to speak.
Only my soul can speak.
Can you hear me?

Thursday, 17 October 2019

Washed Away
Cool cleansing water running over me,
washing away my sins, my impurities,
Cleaning me up, getting rid of the villainy
and lack of chastity.
Absolving me.
But who’s to say they should be washed away
like the scruffiness of childhood innocence.
Who should judge these scents and tastes and sweats
of a life cleanly and clearly remembered.
What sins, what villainy?
I wished they could remain unwashed and pure
retaining their essence within my reach.
Hanging about me in my lived in face.
A testament to my life, an affirmation.
It didn’t take much water to remove them.
But I was already clean.
I can remember.
Pre-order From The Ashes An international anthology of womxn's poetry Edited by Amanda McLeod & Mela Blust Official release date Nov...

Wednesday, 16 October 2019

Tell Me, Mirror
Tell me, Mirror,
which face do you see?
Is it a pale face,
fairer than fair,
unsullied by sun,
moist and unlined,
unblemished by wind.
Glowing white,
white as virgin snow
unbroken by footprints.
Or is the glowing skin wrinkling,
the shining white greying.
As time has passed
has it picked up some dirt
in passing.
Maybe it’s darker still in places
as the whiteness decays.
As it melts away
like the snow.
Tell me, Mirror,
Which face do you see?

Tuesday, 15 October 2019

Can Can

They’re lined up ready to go on stage
These dancers of the Folies Bergère
their mouths reddened,
stockings suspended
heels high as heads
ready to dance
their Can Can.
And yes they can
they really can
kick their legs that high
and wave them around
as if they are disconnected
as if their bodies are barely held 
but they are together
and they really can
hold on
at least to each other.

Sunday, 13 October 2019

Red Car
The abandoned car stood on the waste ground,
rusting away, doors hanging off, leather seats ripped.
The children played there on warm summer days
but I was not allowed.
The place was dangerous
and the children were rough.
It was the first time I had ever been in a car.
I sat behind the wheel to drive it making
engine noises like a bus.
It was a black car.
In those days all cars were black.
Any colour you like, so long as it’s black.
I thought that a red one would have been nicer.
For the 2019 Summer Muses' Gallery, we asked poets to share their passion for driving and cars. Automobiles are a means of getting to a destination. In this collection, the car means much more. Car as machine and technological marvel. Car as identity. Car as culture. Car as freedom and liberation...

Friday, 11 October 2019

Fish Out Of Water
The birds swooped and dived,
“listen carefully to us”,
they sang to the fish.
“We lived in water. Then
we wanted to change
so we came out of the water,
left it below. Then
we swopped scales for feathers,
exchanged fins for wings.
We soared on the thermals
and perched in the trees
so come fly with us now
it’s your turn to leave.”
The fish listened carefully
they were intrigued.
“How do we fly?”,
they mouthed
in response.
“Come up and join us,
we’ll teach you to fly”.
“If you fall from the sky
we’ll teach you to swim”
the fish called up to them.
But the birds didn’t hear
until they joined in.
​ Guest Editor’s Note: Thank-you to all of the writers who entered the DALE PATTERSON CHALLENGE; I was impressed by the quality, quantity and variety of the interpretations to Dale’s...

Thursday, 10 October 2019

The Earth Is Broken
Hold the moon carefully,
it’s very fragile
so easily broken
by the human touch,
so easily broken
just like the earth was broken,
just like the earth is broken.

Wednesday, 9 October 2019

They were returning
to their spaces at tables
left only ten minutes ago,
he from the cloakroom to the left,
she from the cloakroom to the right.
They paused together at the open door
and saw him leaning back,
a half smile on his face
slightly bemused
just a little fascinated.
She was leaning forward,
elbows on table,
hands gesturing
to help her explain
the complexity
of the issue.
She sat back.
He asked her something
they couldn’t hear
but they saw it all,
saw her vigorous nods
and more explanation.
Saw her stand briefly
to demonstrate her meaning
then sat back down again.
They saw it all.
He was nodding now
then suddenly
he leaned
forward to take her hands,
her clenched hands folded in his
as he smiles
smiles and speaks.
They still can’t hear,
only see as they move
to retake their spaces
but think they could be lost.
They looked up,
to see them.
In ten minutes they’d been forgotten
and they knew they were lost.

Tuesday, 8 October 2019

Heart’s Desire
She said, I was her heart’s desire
I think
she meant it.
I think
I felt it too.
But now I feel
of desire
I feel
only strangeness
holding her heart in my hand.
I feel it pulsating with life.
I feel the blood flowing like tears,
while she lies still,
so still,
Emptied of desire,
like me.
Only wonder.
Only I wonder
what will happen next.
About This Website
The 2019 Rhysling Anthology contains the best speculative poems published in English in 2018, nominated by members of the Science Fiction and Fantasy Poetry Association. The Anthology serves as the voting instrument for the annual Rhysling Award, given in Long and Short categories. Poems may be s...

Sunday, 6 October 2019

Meditation On Autumn
I look into the river
and see how my reflection
moves helplessly in it’s flow.
Its moved and changed,
but left stationary,
not moved along
like the fishes
and pebbles
and floating leaves.
Disturbed and abstracted
my image fades and breaks
with the images beyond me.
I feel in danger of being broken up
and washed away
leaf by leaf.
The sweet watery sounds should ease my spirit,
should shut out the babbling inside me.
But even as I put my hands
over my broken ears,
I know that winter
will find a way
in any case.