Cheer – A Haiku

When you walked in the

room, we all cheered; you were

finally smiling.

White Lies – A Haiku

White lies are simply

black ones with the lights turned up;

are still black at heart.

For Us – Mark Two

This place is just for us, and no one else need be here. It is exactly as it should be; for us.

I will hold your hand; let them look. All I can see is you.

I will kiss you; let them talk. All I can hear is your voice.

This place, here, between the tips of our fingers and each other’s hands, is just for us; is exactly where we need to be.

For Us

This place, here, between the tips of our fingers and each other’s hands, is just for us; is exactly where we need to be.

To Last

You were built to last; goodness, why don’t you see it?

You have a heart in your chest that beats louder than the drums of a marching band; is a better engine than even the fastest car.

You have feet which cling to the ground with a vice’s grip, and have walked a thousand miles and more.

Your eyes see colour that engineers and scientists only dreamed of to begin with, that only the feathers of birds can truly replicate.

You have a brain, a mind inside it – you, inside it. It is the strongest processor we will ever find, the fastest. It is wisdom, limitless. Don’t you see?

Your hands hold fast like anchors. No sea, no storm can move them; they will not be weathered.

Your words roll from your tongue, like wisps of smoke from a blown-out match; somehow, still, they engulf like a blaze which destroys a home, or a village.

Your bones are more than calcium; they are steel. They are holding you up, while you carry the world on your shoulders, a god from ancient tales.

You were built to last; goodness, why don’t you see it?

The Radio

I kissed you in the lamplight as my heart beat fast, and the radio hummed around us, cheering us on.

There is a Moment

There is a moment.

I could feel it as I kissed your lips,

could see it as the lamp light reflected in your eyes.

I could hear it in the sharpness of your breath, with the rise and fall of your soft chest.

There are moments of tension in news, in drama. They are nothing compared to that first moment; the contact, the pressure.

They are relieved like the turning of a tap, the burst of a balloon, the push of an old door. You exhale.

There are moments beat out with the rhythm of a drum; rapid, gentle, calm, strong.

It is in every movement. Every emotion. Listen.

We know, here, there is a moment.

She is the River

Everything in her is reminiscent of the river that seems to have lived forever near the old manor house.

It has a way of flowing almost – almost – silently, gently. She walks in just the same way; gliding, softly disturbing the air in the quietest of whispers.

She is cold, and warm; all emotion and thought, all wonder and passion. The river is affected by the seasons and the journey of the sun – one moment it can sooth souls of men and the soles of feet, the next it induces a sharp intake of breath, a shudder.

Her every word is intriguing, engaging. The people of the town gravitate towards her, unconsciously, it seems. They are the rivers detritus, the fallen leaves atop and the stones resting at the bottom.

The river is never the same, from one second to the next; it changes in a moment. She is everything, always; she has the same mystery of difference, of changeability.

The next time you step in the river, it will have left you; another will stand in its place – before you step out again, a stranger one will caress and cool your ankles. The next time you see her, you will see another; the same and someone new.

The Tramp

Class is but a concept.

Here, one is regal; one a scamp.

It matters not; they’re made for each other:

the Lady and the Tramp.

Hunting

Unlikely friends, indeed;

brave hound and cunning fox.

But friendship won’t outlast

bullets pulled out from the box.

Never

He dances with his shadow;

he is brave and strong and bold.

He will help his friends to find themselves,

but he never will grow old.

Wild Boy

He may look like our brothers,

but swinging from the vines,

his soul belongs with apes and birds,

and the blazing sun that shines.

Jasmine

The princess dreamed of running;

indeed she did just that.

Who would have thought, escaping,

she would collide with a street rat.

Savage Man

The white men came to find them;

one loved her, we are told.

The truth, she was his victim,

at just thirteen years old.

 

The Archer Girl

Your eyes are greenest gems,

like the land around your home;

your hair the sharpest red,

like the crumbling mountain stone.

Your mind the sharpest weapon,

your tongue is just as so;

you have such independence,

you are braver than you know.

Ice

Do not let them, darling, tell you you to conceal.

You are so much yourself;

it gives one chills to see, to feel.

Remeber you are royal,

beautiful – you should know.

It is yours to choose, my love, whether or not to let it go.

 

Fruit

When you ask me questions like ‘What’s your favourite veg?’

you somehow manage, somehow, yes, to pull me from the edge.

Much like them, you’re lovely, from your leaves down to the root.

I’ll wait, no doubt it’s coming, for ‘What’s your favourite fruit?’

Who are You?

Where did you come from?

You’re not here – and yet you are.

When it’s dark and a little cold, I would prefer the real you.

Who are you?

I have no idea – and I’m absolutely certain.

How I am supposed to know, I’m not sure. I don’t think I know the difference; I don’t think it matters.

Why are you here?

There are hundreds of answers with no questions – just as many in the reverse.

With questions in my head, I need to know more, but I can wait a little longer.

The Way You

The way you never have your keys, and the way you touch your hair.

The way you can’t wash up; how talk to yourself, like I’m not there.

The way you drink your coffee, and how you hate making tea.

The way you laugh, don’t listen, do; how you’re always there for me.

The way you doubt yourself too much, and the passion that you show.

The way you’re simple, comforting, sure; how you’re perfection, but you don’t know.

Searchlight

When the searchlight traces your shape, don’t run away.

Let it brighten your shadows and balance your shining.

Walk into it next time; stand under it, please.

Anticipate – A Haiku

Anticipation;

it is an ache. Painful and

intoxicating.

Up Late – A Haiku

Your parents sent you

to bed early as a child.

Now you wish they would.

The Giant-Slayer

Jack wasted the money;

disappointed his dear mum.

But then he slayed the giant,

with his fee, fi, fo and fum.

The Golden Egg

The goose is the protector;

avoid it at all cost.

For you will be in peril,

when its golden egg is lost.

The Tortoise

The hare was faster, surely;

the tortoise calm at pace.

But it is he who’s the true victor;

slow and steady wins the race.

Bambi

The little deer adventured,

happy in each trot.

But her joy was turned away,

when she heard her mother shot.

The Real Boy

The boy, his father loves him,

this much is true, it shows.

But the boy is always lying;

you can see it from his nose.

Stiltskin

The man will make you trust him,

he’s cunning, on the whole.

But watch your back, all is not safe.

Please do not sell your soul.

The Book – A Haiku

If a book is writ’

but ne’er read, why scribe at all?

Open the book, friend.

Spark

As one skin grazed the other,

the spark raised its head.

Not visible, but touchable; electric.