Fonicks

Mi teature sez I must corekt mi sbellin me selv
But wot do yew do?
Iv yew hafent got a klew,
How two sbell it?
An yew karn’t fynd it in the Dicshenery.

aw iv yoo hafe tride evry way two sbell it
And yor Sbell Chequer
Gives yuo the rong worm?

Or wen yu lefed Klick on yor,
Conpewter an it sez
-No sbelling sujestuns
Sew yew klick -luck it up
And it sez -knot in the Dicshenery.

Itz a consprisee!

Insomnia

Wind groans and drags the door, fingers tracing
rising bumps of hair; I curl back warm in
mother’s womb; but inside my eyes glow bright
-and wide, my jaw a vice that crushes heads
Each glowing character burns hot; each
stringy-minute-stretching; another hour
struggles, blinking; till each, snaps grimly past

Curtain tracks shriek their anger, resenting
Intrusion; they seek dark corners; shiver
on cold walls; haunted by shadows of sleep.
Doors pour silhouettes; chances companions.
But outside morning waits; laying down-dark
sky, uncaring she births; torn-at the suns head
And whispering promise, tomorrow smiles

The Silk Dress

I looked into the future and freedom beckoned
Childhood was too small for me
I wriggled and tore and pushed
Till it lay at my feet
Faded like the day

I left because it was too small and tight
I hated its restriction its familiarity
Freedom gave me wings
The sun was hot
But I could fly

The future beckoned but it wore faded wings
Its eyes were pale and it could not fly
Childhood still at my feet
Lay torn a misty dream
Forgotten unexplored

I picked it up gently and laid it against me
Shimmering silk full of hope
So tiny and frail
I wear an old dress now
Future is silent
Childhood beckons in an old dress

Previously published in Poetic Storm 2005