Cross – A Haiku

Be less cross with your-

-self: the patterns you stitch are

perfect already.

Stitch

You lost your voice

long before

you locked it in it’s box.

And now you seem unsure

whether to use it.

It seems to talk easily

in other people’s chambers,

and echo

in them freely,

among friends.

And yet

you cannot hear yourself:

the way you talk about others

and

all the wise things you say,

like they are in

a different language,

not for you.

If only

you could stitch up

the things people say about you,

then

you could build a blanket,

to wear

when you look in the mirror.

Then you might see

what we all see,

at long last.

Questions – A Haiku

How can you know what

to do with these questions when

ev’ry answer’s wrong

The Edge

These are waves,

breaking down the mountains,

leaving little else behind,

bringing us closer to the edge.

Question

How do you

answer a question,

that you do not want to answer?

How do you know

what to do,

when you don’t?

When The World

When the world feels confusing

and unsafe,

build cushions out of phone calls,

and find peace

wherever you roam.

Find peace,

and be brave –

we will get through this;

it can feel like

we’re not really alone.

When you’re not sure

what to do –

when you have questions

and have fears,

take time

and take a breath,

one day they’ll be

happy tears.

When everything you love

is at a distance,

hold it close,

at least –

tightly in your heart.

Hold it close,

and when we come

back together,

it might be like

we’ve never been apart.

Lock

There is a key

for this lock;

merely misplaced,

not truly lost.

Set Free

We are but lions

in a cage;

if we should roar,

you would hear us

set free.

Borrowed Time

I can but hold you,

as though we are on

borrowed time,

or on time

which might be

stolen;

taken from us,

once again.

Reunion

If I were less afraid,

of drowning

in reunion,

I might never

let you go.

When This Sea

When this sea is parted,

we will be together,

and I will hold you close,

as though its current might

tear us apart.

Having

It’s is not the missing which is worst;

not the act of not having.

It is the having,

and the act of not being able to hold.

Sunshine

‪The brightness‬

‪of sunshine‬

‪is cruel,‬

‪when we are‬

‪free‬

‪to enjoy it‬

‪from cages, ‬

‪or forced‬

‪to enjoy it‬

‪in fear. ‬

Where The Coal Is

This place,

where the coal is faced,

is dark,

dirty,

cold.

It is dangerous –

this place where the coal is faced.

We can barely see,

and neither can you.

The Cracks Are Meant.

The cracks are meant to be there,

to let in the light, from within.

The whistle of the draft,

is made for clearing the air.

The creak of the doors,

is soul music.

The dripping tap,

is a heartbeat, unstopped.

The imperfect parts,

are uniqueness in its purest form.

The cracks are meant to be there.

Why I Love Poetry – A Haiku

Poetry captures

a single moment, wrapped up

inside of your heart.

Let No One

Let no one

ever tell you

that golden you are not.

Let no one

ever say,

you did not do.

Let no one

ever make you think

that you are

not just greatness;

that you did not hit the target –

every shot.

On Two Hands

I can count on two hands,

the people who will leave you;

the people who will walk,

before you push.

I can count on two hands,

the people who must go now,

before your poison reaches in,

and leaves them shook.

By My Side

Thank goodness

you have been here,

to hold my hand,

and guide me through.

Thank goodness

you have been here

by my side.

Thank goodness

you have been here,

with all your wisdom

and your calm.

Thank goodness

you have been here

by my side.

Thank goodness

you have been here,

to advise me

and trust my gut.

Thank goodness

you have been here

by my side.

Thank goodness

that you have been here,

to make me laugh

and give me pride.

Thank goodness

you have been here

by my side.

Father Gone.

Though you miss him,

you need not;

he is in you – I see him.

It is like we already met.

When All This

When all this is over,

Good luck.

Some Days It Rains

Some days,

it rains,

even when it doesn’t.

That week,

in particular,

it poured.

What appeared,

at first,

to be light, soft clouds

on a mostly clear day,

turned out

to be rain clouds –

ending black,

beginning grey.

The gentle whistle

of the wind,

became

the crackle and boom

of lightning;

of thunder.

Weather,

as it turns out,

cannot be predicted;

is not to be trusted.

Expect a deluge,

when you don’t;

a downpour

in the sun;

storms on each new day,

after the promise

of a far brighter one.

This week,

it has rained

even when it hasn’t.

We fear it may continue.

Home

Home

is not a place,

rather a feeling;

not walls and things,

but people.

Home

is not inside there,

but inside here:

in the centre

of your chest,

filled with love and light.

Home

does not belong to us,

but within;

it is who we are,

not where.

This is home:

we.

Burst

The way you make my heart beat,

I am frightened of the sound;

that it might burst out my chest

before I’ve found you.

Food Music

If music be the food of love,

this tune is fair confusing.

If food should be the music of love,

this is a meal I am consuming.

Trash

This has been

a terrible day.

Take its hard edges,

sharp corners,

and crumpled design,

turned away

from its original form,

and

throw it

in the trash.

Howls into the Night

Your oversized wool jumper

may present

a sheep,

but it hides a wolf inside you,

that howls

into the night.

The glass

through which you long

is only sand

made solid by your fire,

and

worn down

from mountains

by the power in your feet.

Your tears

might be a river,

but a stream

is a beautiful thing.

Electric

The rain fell

endlessly

from inside you,

just exactly as it did

all around us;

those moments were

electric,

like the lightning

in the sky.

Lungs

Take a breath

and fill your lungs.

Here,

the air is clear,

and life has just begun.

As Yet

What a strange

disappointment,

for a welcome unknown

to become an,

as yet,

unreached desire.