A pagan poem for a miracle man / a violent nature

You were high as the hill you climbed in the night
up to the dog that's a tree, all bark. The birds bite-
there's a murder of crows- don't stop to stare
Take and make bows from those that billow in my hair.
Do you know the question marks that follow all you say
can be bent into arrows? You fire away.
You never meant to be kind but your eyes shot stars
out into the skies. We both are shooting blind,
The answers we find were never ours.
There's been a murder of crows- feather as blade.
We put away the arrows for I was afraid
I can't say for sure whether birds died in the dark
but the pure Green Man's song was in the dog tree's bark.
As the trees protect you, Green Man folds in your arm
The birds respect you. They sing, 'do no harm'.

magnetic

Taking Time

Tumbling words of children became conversations
more slowly than we became two people to see as one.

The cheetah can run up to 70 miles an hour,
but we promised that time wouldn’t have a say in this.

We were inspired by the lack of syllables it took us
to understand the flawed or stormy attempts to explain-

my failings, the big empties, more and more obvious
that there can be conjured a mirage of seduction.

 There isn’t room anymore for interrogation,
time doesn’t get a say in this.

But the scrambling words of a child are clearer than my second sight,
and even the cheetah must slow down to breathe.

We pride ourselves in the hurry but I need time.
I didn't get a say in why.
There's nothing anyone can say but I.

Haikus

I love Baby Green.
Petits pois, petits fois, gras?
Non, don't stuff the ducks.

Major attraction
Mediocre and at sea.
My colonel sweetheart.

Nice to me, biscuits
and tea and jam and cake
sugar-coated sips..

So many emails.
There's an army of women
in chains, male ordered

There's a wedding soon
Peggy Sue getting married
holly in her hair

Library of peace
A tedious quiet place
where nothing happens.

The beach map from hell
Treasure buried with lost souls,
bad souls, flaming sand.

Lean on me when you're not strong

I can’t remember the last time I had faith enough
to lean on something without having misjudged, or misunderstood.
I can’t remember  a time I was not the cause of the walls coming down,
railings shattering and shoulders breaking.

Am I one in a long sequence of actions and reactions?
The event of a fall and the consequential fall of something else.
Cause and effect. Action and reaction.
Am I one link in a chain reaction,
a chain linked only by being broken?

Hmmmmm

When you consider someone as trustworthy does it mean they are worthy of your trust
or are you commenting on the extent to which you can trust them and what it's worth?

I made this and stuck it in the main hallway of the building where I live. Next time I saw it a couple of tears had been made.

I-VI

I. You forget your childhood with its bright yellow cassette player, dressed up as a Disney princess. You forget what your nightmares used to be back then, the smell of your school uniform, how long it took to drive to Cornwall at night-time. The quiet of your colouring pens, trying to draw inside the lines.

II. You forget what it was you once said you felt passionate about. Beneath your skin, under your hair, layers of your mind are being peeled away, You are breathless, trying to be who you are by saying you are and trying to be someone other than who you are. You never forget the numbers that tilt you into pride or despair each morning. Spend too much attention on the bones that appear when your skin shrinks back into them.

III. Life has been stretched out in front of you and it's a fresh paved road. Dizzying, the smell of so many asphalt miles, the thought of all those that you can't allow to be empty miles. The road stretches out in front of you.

IV. There is a girl with a wilting name who carries pink half moons in her palms, birdlike and blue. You tried at first, but you could not cry for her while your fingers were a gun down her throat. Not a girl with eyes used to be open clearly, curious blinks, now turned into confusion and bitterness and so, so much pain. You don't know her pain, only yours, and hers is yours as well. She never asked for this. She never asked to wear so many costumes.

V. You are in a car and the road is nothing like it used to be. Your pedal is too close to the floor. The girl whose name was wilting has no name anymore. She is shrinking out of sight, reflected in your rear-view mirror. A month ago, perhaps, she would have tried to run after you, begging you, do not leave yourself behind. Now, those eyes were violent and hateful and she was defiant. Thumb stuck out, disappearing into the distance. You forget her but she will be back because she took all the vengeance you had in the backseat away with her.

VI. The road stretches out ahead of you.