Writings
Little scribblings of words.
Little scribblings of words.
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Extraordinary Ordinaries
Traces left behind throughout the day Coffee ground constellations, whirlpools of cup stains Still mornings lifting as steam rises 60s pop sounds better in pants alone People packed into patches of pure sunlight Delicious debris of human existence Petals fallen on unmoved cars Romanticise the lapse between commuting hours The sticky taste of summer on my tongue Days layered in lines across delicate shoulder skin Orange suns of courgette flowers burst forth Obsolete observations some may say But I’ll embroider moths upon your best socks Reverberations of laughter as aching apples of cheeks glow rosy And eat forget-me-knots Licking the petals from the tip of a finger Swallowing it whole These altars to the ordinary Ceremonial simplicities in all their divinity. |
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Snow
Softening everything. From the forms of the landscape become marshmallow like in their curvature, expanded, billowed, harsh edges dissipated. The contrast between land and sky is excellently muted, flip me upside down and I would be hard pressed to tell you whether I was gazing at clouds laden with flakes ready to fall or the hedges and trees heavy with that which has already come down. Sounds are muffled by the white water, rivers slowed, narrowed and at points paused. Winter
An almond croissant in the rain Droplets disturbing the silky milk of a flat white top Snowflakes sit heavy, accumulating upon lashes Icy fingers protrude from the duvet, turning the page Mokka pots steam Veggie stews bubble Tights under jeans, socks upon socks Strips of light illuminate the street Where the curtains don’t quite meet. |
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Eyelashes
It’s in watching Wes Anderson films on a Wednesday Eating crumpets, twice toasted with butter Teaching me the sound of an eider duck Dancing sock worn thin a month after moving in. It’s in the print of my lips on the walls of Dina, Sprinting through the streets as if pedestrians don’t exist Planks in the park and watching the skies, the stars or the planes Lasagne slaps, uncomfortable congas, goofy gulls perfecting their dives. It’s in collecting songs that make me think of you Dancing in the kitchen at quarter past two With you, or thinking of you Photos of the moon that didn’t quite come through. It’s in the quiet moments when you untied my shoe The halved bananas I don’t have to consume Making faces in the mirror as we brush our teeth Noticing the moorhen’s long toes wrapped over the edges of stones. The pull in my core, like the sun is caught in there Like soup for the soul even if I am an imperfect broth. It’s in the first day of sunshine come March When we take off our trousers and let our toes sink into the moss and the mud Water, not yet warmed by spring, rises over our skin Watching a wren make her bobbing progress downstream. It’s in the snowflakes collecting heavy on eyelashes in the first snow of the year we met Walking a long way for my car Waving like idiots as I drop you off And as snowflakes fall, and eyelashes fall, I think Is it from fallen eyelashes? Does it count if you rip them from your lash line from time to time, for extra luck? Blow it away and make a wish. Catching a seed head, a fairy Mum said Blow it away and make a wish. Why is it always blowing that makes a wish? Counter intuitive when wishes for me are always about you And the wish to suck you in Hold you closer than ever before. |
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Orange
She is orange to me and it warms my very soul The amber of evening light Sunflowers turned towards one another to maximise the glow The swivel in your ankles that can’t resist a Motown record Like everything is drenched in goodness. Butt
I’ve never really had any feelings about butts before, But I love yours irrevocably. 
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Things that are very important to me
Herons Sunlight The foreheads of cats Otis Redding Welsh cakes When your underwear match Lemon tart, yellow The moon in her pants Goldcrests and long-tailed tits The smell of honeysuckle Rhubarb Sweet Peas and tomato leaves. Dregs
How wonderful it is To love so much That you savour every last drop. |
Coven
When I am old I will wear long skirts and dresses and chunky socks which will swish in an ever so satisfying manner as I sit myself down at a large table. This table will be covered as an altar, with a large cake in a glass stand, candles of varying heights, droplets of wax in an array of colours, ink stains, sticky patches of glue, papers and letters. It will be marked with the rings of old cups as the cups currently in use are set down upon it by four sets of hands, creased by years of pulling up weeds in midday sun. These current cups will be filled regularly by a large tea pot, probably yellow, which our aging joints may resist lifting and yet we will do it. And as I place my mug down on the table I will hear you all cackle at some remark. I am sure our lives will not go as planned, as we wrote down when we were 11, or even how I envisage them going today. Unexpected twists and turns of unknown futures lie ahead. But I am confident, that as our hair turns peppery and we are able to afford that kitchen with the crumbling beams, that it is with you three I want to gather.
When I am old I will wear long skirts and dresses and chunky socks which will swish in an ever so satisfying manner as I sit myself down at a large table. This table will be covered as an altar, with a large cake in a glass stand, candles of varying heights, droplets of wax in an array of colours, ink stains, sticky patches of glue, papers and letters. It will be marked with the rings of old cups as the cups currently in use are set down upon it by four sets of hands, creased by years of pulling up weeds in midday sun. These current cups will be filled regularly by a large tea pot, probably yellow, which our aging joints may resist lifting and yet we will do it. And as I place my mug down on the table I will hear you all cackle at some remark. I am sure our lives will not go as planned, as we wrote down when we were 11, or even how I envisage them going today. Unexpected twists and turns of unknown futures lie ahead. But I am confident, that as our hair turns peppery and we are able to afford that kitchen with the crumbling beams, that it is with you three I want to gather.
