Department

First poem of the day
Drinking coffee
Watching the time
Yesterday I was too early

There is twenty-percent off in the sale
Mother, and son, question, then answer
She has searching eyes, he wonders
How will others see me in this

All the window seats are taken
The man behind me, in the queue
A regular it transpires
Reserved his seat before ordering

It was the seat which I had had my eye on, yet
With the calmness of a meditator
I took the sofa furthest from the window
And it seems, with that, a new trend was begun

Away from the sun, away from
Distractions caused by the pedestrians walking by
Steps then taken, back into the shadows
Retreat into the stillness, of quieter times

Available on Kindle

Coupled

I was excited
Yet also disappointed
I knew that she loved him
Adored him
Besotted with him

I wasn’t so sure though
Of his feelings
He seemed detached
Reticent almost
And then he paid the bill

Available on Kindle

Insistent

Always with a question
Always
With the same question

Yet never asked
No, never proffered
Hidden so deep

Hidden away
With that great security
Of insecurity

Always with contemplation
Always
With that same meditation

So often fallen
Into
So often fallen out of

Dwell so deep
Dwell with that great time
Of no time at all

Available on Kindle

House Work

Dust, and sand
Dust behind the doorstop
Donkey stone to clean the steps
To wash the weary thoughts away

I heard the rustle of wind
Through the grasses in the garden
I heard the heartbeat
Of my quietening, barely beating heart

Sand, and dust
Sand in the bare-toed crevices
Wring washing through the rollers
To drain the doubtless doubts away

I heard the chimes
Hanging by the doorpost
I heard the breath
Through my lively, pulsating heart

Available on Kindle

Herself, Also

Beyond the prospect of all reason
Out-with the confines of one mind
I reach for the reaching season
Give the visions time to redefine

There is a break that isn’t broken
A continuum of the weavers line
With words that remain unspoken
As if this journey is so free of sign

Without the scope of trap, or treason
Before the stateliness of humankind
Weep for the last, of past preseason
Retain the tears, preserved in brine

There is a tool that is no token
As insidious as the words it finds
Out of our windmills thus awoken
As if the turning, was so still in time

Further than the last horizon
Nearer than the heart so kind
I smile at the frieze to lean-on
Offer gifts, so infinite, and sublime

Available on Kindle