In the beginning
From a box
He pulled buff clay
And spun a ball
So vast it swallowed me

I slept numbly
curled tight
blind in the burning
alien sun. I listened
to the distant thunder
Land splitting the virgin sea

Silence so loud
It danced
to the beat
Of my new heart
The first rains
Kissed me; full upon the mouth

Plants stretched out
I could hear
Them speak, how it hurt
this birth. He told me
once, it only cost him a rib

The apple? Well
after that
We couldn’t hear the trees,
Strange how you miss the simple things
Even the serpent was silent
and the rain? The rain was only wet


Blue Feathers

There's a window in the lobby
Showing only her best side
The flawless precision
Of a false smile
She kept in her Dior purse

For many years I didn't know this
A dull sparrow who dreamt
Of blue feathers to hide
Guilty bitten nails
From scrutiny’s reflection

Each day each part was somehow less
Till I became a shape to
Hang her daggers from
The lead roll
In my grey existence

Sadly then as now I can't compete
I who was not even picked
To play, and now unless
Our paths cross
She will stay forever young


The Weaver of Words

Nicole, your words on the last post
set me thinking and turned into a poem.

The Weaver of Words

Wind’s voice rattles clouds
Carrying the songs
Of the weaver of words
Fingers coarsened polished
To the point of a needle
Winding dazzling Ls
From skeins of silk
‘Skilfully’ she weaves
From an apes fist
‘Deceit’ from spider tears
Deftly her fingers dance
‘Azure’ ‘cornflower’
Float towards the sky
Catching a thread she joins
Consonants to vowels
Whispers them to the wind
And into the souls of men.


Butter Wood

Through lanes and tracks
skipping a dusty path
the sun's warm breath
caressing limbs
till gilded pink and gold
we hovered like lazy bees
in the lane we felt the fever
of clover-mead, wild with a
taste of fox glove stroking
the flanks of idle cows

Down to the murky pool of yellow
butter. Cupping our hands
to hold its secret treasure
Whilst muddy eyes on guard
Retreat, growling
insults in a foreign tounge



It was the mud I spose
Strange what a bit of dirt
Could make you think
He knows I don't like the stuff
That's how I knew my floor
Is always smooth and clean
And smells pine fresh.
His boots bounced their remains
rattling across. I felt
But then he wanted to get out
Before I had the time to ask
Normally so quiet. I sometimes
Wonder what he thinks about

The next day I found him
In the shed. He'd a look
About him then
Haunted but more than that
like he was totting up
the next time
That he could take a breath.

Then there was the shirt
New it was. Stuffed in a can
Under a pot. The dark brown marks
Took some getting out
I wonder what he thought
When he found it
Hung and pressed

Someone did come as it was
Got biscuit crumbs
All over the couch
Asked a lot of strange questions
Said I don't know what he does
Except make a mess
We've lived like that
For years. I keep a good clean
House. Then I vacuumed round
His feet. Just to make the point
Till he took the hint
And dropped it in the cup.

They took him the next day
Sirens flashing
All the curtains twitched
So I took to cleaning up
Outside. With such an attach
Of suds and raw hands
I felt better after that


Tagged By Gulnaz

Top Five Things I Miss About My Childhood

1)My red wellies and lylac jumper, I loved them so much my mum had to sneak them away at night to wash them. I was heart broken when I grew out of them.

2)Making food out of mud and enjoying every minute of it. We our gang had a sort of den on the railway bank, which was right next to our house. In the summer it used to be so overgrown they used to have to burn it back. But until they did, it was our jungle, desert island, different planet anything at all. We made mud food in an old pan, slid down the bank on an old vacume body and hung up complex mechanisms to deter baddies. As a parent I'm surprised our parents trusted us to play there, but they had told us that if we went within three yards of the top of the bank, any passing train would suck us in with its powerfull underdraft. Naturally we never tested the theory.

3)My panda bear, I had it for years untill it became so smelly and unwashable that my parents gave me a choice, either keep it but have a new clean one for bed time or they knew a lady who could re-cover her for me( yes she was a girl). Being totaly gulable I opted for the re-cover. I still haven't forgiven my mum for telling me what really happend Iwas (in my twenties), I was devistated.(however you spell that)

4)My dad reciting poems and stories to me (not unlike you Gulnaz)he too has a wonderful speaking voice and the lovely glowing feeling that closeness of a cuddle and a really good orator, (you know what I mean). Magic, I carried it on with my children and hence wrote and illustrated a whole book for them. When they were young the'd come in and say we're doing islands at school write a poem islands and do a picture of us and our mates on one for tomorrow. I think they just thought that was a normal thing to ask your mum.

5) My Nana, we were very close and I once was allowd to spend a whole week with her when I was about eight. All on my own, no smelly brother. She was very beautiful for her age and I remember years later on my wedding morning thinking if I could just look like that when I'm old I won't complain. Sadly she died when I was pregnant with my first child so she never met my children. But I felt like a little of her came back to me in my son. Sorry didn't mean to bring everyone down



Pale walls meander
over gorse scrubbed by the sun
The sky scatters drifts
Picking at the canopy of slab

I hang my eyes out to dry
My soul drifts up over
The lip of crag, I fly
with the eagle and wolf

I flicker, one with the dust
Then rushed-recoiled-snapped
pulled back
To the dark inside my head


You smiled and the blue sky
floated round in silver pieces
the air tasted sweet
and the colours passed through me
Raining from the stars
Each had a flavour
A feeling
Each had a bigger smile

The sun walked with me
Streaching, living
Voicing its golden words
It kissed the land
It trickeling
Into the warm arms of night
Bathing the sky in burning rays of fire

I woke to grey sky
Hanging from my head
Dragging back my hair
My heart was heavy
Swallowed by the stones

You turned out the light
And made me close my eyes
When the sun rose
It was a dry hard biscuit


After Sleeping

Spring flowered late again this year
Shy, swathed in the pursed lips of leaves
Creped bulbs spitting patchworks
Through the lawn’s neat manicured poise.

Sun burst the ponderous blue rinsed clouds
And we wandered lost in fields of flowers.
Mosaic and tundra’s lay in soft water colours
The exotic-scented-fragrant
Drifting out
Stealing a passage on the air

Even the warm rain washing clean
The bones of paths
Or hung like pearls about the trees
We greeted you smiling like children
Still half glowing with sleep