Still Air

The night-time has ears which seem to hear everything.

It’s eyes see each object, each detail, illuminated in the absolute darkness.

Still air touches everywhere, it’s hands delicate, cold, and human.

Culture Kid

Treading the boards with you is simple; finding your mark seems such an easy path.

I know where the light will hit me, illuminate me; it’s as though your guiding them – and me, of course.

Every show deserves the applause, every audience member seeks an encore.

You are the culture which lifts my spirit and inspires. We are actors, directors, writers – no doubt.

Together, we are stars.

The Maid

The dresses and glass slippers,

are wonders while they last,

but the first chime marking midnight,

will come around too fast.

 

The Beast

She was most adored;

he certainly the least.

But who can tell apart

the beauty and the beast?

Crumbs

When lost among the woods,

what more is there to do,

than trace along the crumb line,

and taste the witches brew.

Snow

With even seven guards,

be careful who you trust,

for if you bite the apple,

those red lips will turn to rust.

The Spindle

She would make you sleep forever;

it is crueler than the kill.

But while love will never grace her,

be known to you, it will.

Her Hair

Her hair was of sparkling gold;

dear mother loved her, she thought.

But without her locks and their power,

the love thus amounted to naught.

The Mermaid

The witch stole her voice,

and the king stole her freedom.

The boy stole her heart,

and the sea stole her seasons.

Hurricane

When all you can hear is the quiet creak of the boards,

it can feel like a hurricane; like a thunderstorm.

Answer

We barely answered a question,

from the voice across the room,

but I’d ask and answer much more

when they’re between just me and you.

The Engine

I kissed you in the moonlight while your heart beat fast, and the engine hummed around us, cheering us on.

Abandon – A Haiku

Reckless abandon,

please don’t leave me quite so soon.

I need you, you see.

Sometimes, When I Look at You

Sometimes when I look at you, I can see your teenage self so clearly, as if the skin you wear now were simply a veil or a pane of glass.

When you speak, I can tune your adulthood, your professionalism, your calm into the sound of a young girl, gossiping and giggling her afternoons away.

Your self-assured walk could just as easily be the throws of a teenage tantrum; the movement of your hands a gesture you used to think was cool.

Your smile is knowing now, your eyes even more so. But sometimes when I look at you, and the light catches them just right, all I see is innocence and youth; all I see is you.

Jump

She fell as quickly as the water; her heart beat was much the same.

The air rushed by her as thoughts raced through her brain.

Everywhere was quiet, and finally she felt so, too.

In the end she was cold and still; a perfect partner to the pool in which she finally felt alive.

The Sea

The hills, the sand, and the sea floor are all brothers, each one older than the next.

The ocean and the rain are sisters; there are hints of salt in both – something unspoken.

Like the invisible connections between the King’s many daughters, the sea is in them all.

Wild Ones – A Haiku

We are the wild ones;

the free and brave and in love.

Nothing can stop us.

Before I Met You

Before I met you, I had never deciphered the end of an unfinished sentence. I wasn’t very good at it in the beginning, but now I sometimes think I know what you’re saying even before you do.

Before I met you, I didn’t know that a mile in a straight line could be so exciting. Now you’re the only milestone I need when we walk together; you anchor me home when we’re apart.

Before I met you, I thought comfort felt different. I’ve realised now that it’s not just warmth and softness; it’s safety and understanding.

Before I met you, I hated crying; hated it. Now most of the tears are in love with laughter, and the ones that aren’t don’t scare me any more.

Before I met you, I had never deciphered the end of an unfinished sentence. I wasn’t very good at it in the beginning, but now  –

The Heights

The moors were beautiful, and they were sad.

If you stand upon them you can see for miles; the house is tall and strong a little way off, and the wind chills you even on the stillest day.

There is a smell of lavender plants and old water, their unhappy child the murky brown around them, a twin to the boy in the house in the distance.

It seems always to be raining, even when the sun is glowing, even when the skies are dry. It is a feeling, a sense, like the cold in an old house with all its fires blazing.

There are paths worn among the grass, between stables and patios and the water’s edge; imposters among the green.

An ornate house has a way of being powerful and fragile simultaneously. Here, the grey stone is thick and handsome, crumbling and mossy. It is a picture of status which rises above the people of the town, where grubby little boys could be found, but does not rise above its landscape; how could it?

There is noise in parts of the house; happy noise, bustle, the growl of animals. There is a pregnant silence in other parts, its belly punctured only by sharp words and pointed fingers.

The creatures inside are privileged, brash, well-fed; the dogs are much the same. Some others are less so; they are rather more like the plants – soft, subtle, beautiful. One is more like the marshes; darker, natural, and yet somehow still attractive.

Sadness is sown into the curtains, painted onto the cornice. The gargoyles try their hardest to rid the house of pain; their expressions are understandable – the water must be bitter, grainy, cold.

Happiness is in the quiet corners, flickering candles in the darkness. Where a book would be read, a hand held, or a kiss stolen. At the windows, there is the promise of freedom, and the possibility of shadows cast to create fear and sadness; memories rather forgotten, or rather remembered differently.

There are stories here, there can be no doubt. They are bigger than the buildings, longer than the reeds, deeper than the river. People will fall in love here, will hate, feel pain, share laughter, be cruel to one another. And the rain and leaves will continue to fall, tapping on the windows and trickling down the roof; the lightning will whip and shout, like the father of the house.

Lives will begin and end, some as quickly as the tempers of men, some even more unfairly.

The boy, dark and strange to begin and just so at the end, will remember.

 

Importance – A Haiku

I am so surprised

by how shocked you are by your

importance to me.

Lion Heart – A Haiku

You’re a lion-heart,

roaring louder than the king.

Drown him out, at last.

 

Woolf

You may wear the same white wool, but the scent of your fur and the clicking of your claws are as loud as a howl to the moon.

Tarmac

I could wrap myself in the tarmac of this city; graze on the grasses and the leaves.

The noises could sing me to sleep, loud and soft and sharp and smooth; I can rest my head at the sound of sirens and sunsets.

I would let the castle keep me safe, let gothic architecture stand next to me like a brother.

The water flows through me; the bodies are connected; this is a place and so much more.

 

She’d This Way – A Haiku

She’d this way in her

that made you feel as though there

was more to know and –

Hands

The mechanism is strong, the features intertwined.

There is always heat, even when the movement ceases; always a buzz.

There is moisture and tension, power.

There is a simplicity that is somehow genius; something is created, continued from it.

There is the faintest of rhythms, two beating in unison when the pieces come together.

Even When

Even when the sun completes a journey, even when the rain beats down, relentless, no road will ever be long enough.

Even when the leaves turn from emerald to amber and the oil is at its last drop, no road will ever be long enough.

Even when the blisters form and the skin is worn to bone, I will walk another step, another.

One more step will never be long enough.

 

Plan

There is no plan, my love. But that’s absolutely fine.

I’ve always found the hair out of place and the speck of dust on your jacket the most beautiful things about you.

You always found the broken trickles of a river and the last green leaf the most delighting.

Who needs a plan, my love. We are connected by invisible strings; the route is incidental.

Ear – A Haiku

It appears that your

ear is needed. Be flattered

that it is just so.

Fish Red – A Haiku

Doctor Seuss was right

about you; was right, fish red.

He was right, fish blue.

Thank Goodness – A Haiku

Your eyes and ears are,

it seems, for me; yes, a gift.

Thank goodness for you.