Natural Alchemy

  your eyes meet

  the world tilts

  and creases in the middle

  making the wine spill

  from your glass

  you swiftly close the distance

  and all the while your eyes

  do not waver from each other

  your belly is on fire

  you want to rip off her clothes

  and take her on the table

  or up against the wall

  you want her to be there

  when you come home at night

  you want her to be

  the mother of your children

  you’ve never felt like this

  and it’s wonderful

  as scary and exhilarating

  as riding on a roller coaster

  you want to know her name

  and where she’s been all your life

  another cliché

  but you don’t give a damn

  because you have just discovered

  the reason for your existence

  GETTING AWAY WITH IT

  The map on the wall mocked his own tiny world,

  a damp house on a soulless estate

  where no-one was proud to live.

  This place, this life, had nothing to give -

  if only he had the money to get away.

  But there were no jobs for the likes of him.

  He was smart, but had no qualifications to prove it.

  He’d well and truly sunk in a sink school;

  even had there been a life-belt

  no-one had cared enough to throw it.

  The map on the wall ignited his imagination.

  His head went to places his feet itched to follow.

  He savoured the names as he whispered them:

  Naples, Nairobi, Zanzibar, Saskatchewan.

  In his daydreams he picked spices, mangoes, tea,

  bartered for silks in a Casablancan souk.

  In the end it was utter desperation made him do it.

  When the police came and knocked on his door

  he went quietly and they wondered at his smile.

  He humbly explained that the money was gone.

  The map on the wall is his prized possession,

  an escape from a space measuring six by twelve.

  They expect the system to break him,

  but while his body lies on a hard narrow bed

  his spirit dances a thousand miles away.

  With good behaviour he’ll be out in six months

  and taste true freedom for the first time.

  He won’t return to that shabby estate.

  He’ll head for where he buried the bag,

  retrieve the money and go.

  GONE but not departed

  Ethereal thoughts

  and hazy memories

  sway in your mind

  like a field of wild flowers

  in a soft breeze.

  Are you thinking of me?

  Your heart

  goes on beating,

  your lungs

  go on breathing,

  But the machines

  merely imprison a soul

  that yearns to fly

  Now you are slipping

  into my dreams

  telling me how time

  has stopped for you,

  that you are suspended.

  between two worlds.

  Gone

  but not departed.

  It is time to set you free.

  GREEN

  When they come for us

  we shall be wearing

  Nature’s colours

  They have bulldozers

  and chainsaws

  Our only weapons

  are passion and placards

  but like blunt arrows

  let fly against steel

  mere words fall useless

  to the ground

  and passion alone

  cannot protect

  the rainforest

  Mother Earth

  stands by our side

  and even she

  is weeping

  Why can’t they understand

  that all we want

  is a safe clean world

  for our children?

  GRIEVING

  I’m trying hard to understand

  why I can’t reach out

  and touch your hand

  I know you’re never far away

  and though you visit

  you cannot stay

  So could it be that distant sigh

  you calling my name

  as you pass by?

  Could it be that breath of air

  your gentle fingers

  ruffling my hair?

  The pain is like a searing burn

  the price of loving you

  and being loved in return

  HEALER, HEAL THYSELF

  Struck twice by lightning

  her dark eyes saw angels

  and her pale hands were given

  the gift of healing

  for a while she felt blessed

  She walked the planet

  but there were too many people

  begging for a cure

  too many people draining

  her life force away

  The gift turned to poison

  as the desperate and despairing

  clawed at her

  or held out their children

  for just one touch

  Now she sits in shop doorways

  Now she is the one begging

  Coins fall chinking into the hat

  while her heeling hands

  are clenched into fists

  HIDING

  The third house

  was meant to be a safe house.

  He set about settling

  into the community.

  New face, new name,

  new credibility.

  The neighbours marvelled

  at his kindness

  and how he

  captivated their children.

  For that

  they could be forgiven.

  For they were ignorant

  of his past,

  why he’d moved

  from the first house

  and the second.

  None of them

  could have reckoned

  that this gentle man

  was intimately acquainted

  with the ways

  of torturers and assassins.

  Nor could they know his enemies

  were rapidly amassing.

  HOLIDAY ROMANCE

  you open and close

  your eyes

  with the tide

  breaking waves

  pound at your pride

  his promises lie torn

  at your naked feet

  memories of him

  are bitter-sweet

  you gave yourself

  on the salty dunes

  how long will it take

  to heal the wounds

  you call his name

  only a seagull replies

  you were another victim

  of his practised lies

  HUNGRY

  We’re hungry we say to the moon

  But the moon stares back

  an eye in the sky

  with no reply

  as cruel in its coldness

  as the sun with its killing heat

  So we go on praying to the gods

  The sun rises and the earth bakes

  We huddle in doorways

  crying over the ruined crops

  tired after the midnight sacrifice

  that went unheard again

  Some dare whisper,

  Are we praying to the right gods?

  The moon waxes and wanes

  and we are on our knees again

  spilling useless blood and

  ululating superstitious nonsense

  Yet day after day

  we and
our children starve

  We are praying to the wrong gods.

  IRRECONCILABLE DIFFERENCES

  Pleading waves recede unheeded

  as he walks along the shore.

  He knows his love is waiting,

  but his heart is breaking,

  for they can go on no more.

  From the sea she watches him,

  sees the message in his tears,

  the dragging of his baptised feet.

  How can her heart continue to beat

  if they have no more days and years.

  They come together at their secret place.

  Holding tight, facing what they must.

  Their Utopia was as brittle as glass.

  The sorry sky weeps a shower of stars

  for hopes that have crumbled to dust.

  As the sun rises on a new dawn,

  they force their hearts to freeze.

  With a flick of her tail she is away,

  her goodbye dissolving in the spray.

  His farewell floats away on the breeze.

  JUDGEMENT

  Time shatters

  but nothing matters

  any more

  You know where

  you are

  and why

  So here you

  shall be

  for all eternity

  feasting on

  the ashes

  of a long dead star

  KINDRED SPIRITS

  I don’t mind

  what colour or style

  your robes are.

  By all means dress

  in brocade, plain cotton,

  or even sackcloth

  and ashes.

  I don’t mind

  how tall or ornate

  your headdress

  or plain your veil.

  By all means

  cover your hair

  or your face.

  I don’t mind

  about your rites

  and ceremonies

  By all means

  worship whenever

  and wherever

  your faith demands.

  All I ask in return

  is that you don’t mind

  what I do, nor try

  to convert me

  to your way of thinking.

  We are all the same

  beneath the skin.

  LIFESTYLE

  She offers me tea.

  I want coffee

  but know better than to say so.

  I know

  that the water will be

  fresh, filtered.

  A teapot would be a waste.

  The bag has a tag attached -

  instructions to brew

  for five minutes or to taste.

  She puts out homemade biscuits,

  vegan, I’m sure.

  But I’ll endure.

  The cup is placed at my elbow

  on the cork mat

  that protects the mahogany table,

  and she wants me to know that

  they are both

  from managed rainforests.

  I am not asked

  if I want milk and sugar.

  Neither is necessary in tea

  that is muddy green

  and smells of nettle.

  I sip and nibble and smile,

  looking forward

  to the comforts of my own home.

  I’ll open a tin of cookies,

  put on the kettle to steam.

  I’ll make myself a cup of coffee,

  with two sugars

  and lashings of real cream.

  LOVE MANSION

  If emotions

  were bricks and mortar

  how easily

  I could build my feelings

  I’d design a house

  of well-proportioned rooms

  with arched windows

  and high ceilings

  I’d be the architect

  of a magnificent mansion

  everything made

  to absolute perfection

  To you I would give

  the only key

  a token of my love

  and undying affection

  In a thousand years

  it would still be standing

  my Taj Mahal

  built just for you

  Tourists would come

  and marvel

  at just what love can do

  MINDSICK

  I was ill once

  My world turned upside down

  I remember when it happened

  you looked at me

  and frowned

  I was ill once

  Something went wrong in my head

  I lost my grip on reality

  you looked at me

  with dread

  I was ill once

  I’m much better today

  I came to say hello to you

  but you turned

  your face away

  NATURAL ALCHEMY

  Dandelions unravel

  their seeds

  of silvery down

  Send them floating

  on the breeze

  dancing

  to their destiny

  What a way to travel

  A wonder to behold

  these dandelion dancers

  skimming on air

  to land somewhere

  and grow

  by Nature’s command

  into flowers

  of glorious gold

  NEGLECTED

  This morning I noticed

  a brooding quality

  about my curtains.

  Years they have hung there,

  opened and closed,

  closed and opened,

  with nothing to say.

  But today

  there is a certain something

  that alerts me

  to dissatisfaction.

  And like a chain reaction

  the carpets are joining in.

  So too the bookshelves,

  table tops and other surfaces.

  All my possessions

  are loudly objecting

  to the weight of grime and dust

  Seems I have betrayed their trust

  I had no idea inanimate objects

  could be so eloquently angry.

  But I understand their meaning.

  It’s time for some serious cleaning.

  PARANOIA

  Sorry.

  I didn’t mean to startle you.

  I didn’t see you there,

  hiding in the shadows

  Who are you hiding from?

  Me?

  Him?

  Or the thing around the corner?

  If you were hiding from me,

  I’ve found you.

  If you were hiding from him,

  he’s long gone.

  It’s no use hiding

  from the thing around the corner.

  After all,

  you’re the one who put it there.

  PHILOSOPHY CAFÉ

  Huddled in a cafe in a rain-slicked street,

  refusing to contemplate defeat,

  old philosophers whisper ways

  to put the world to rights.

  But danger lurks in sugar pots

  and in innocent-looking spots

  on the rims of cracked ashtrays.

  They drink it in with every mouthful here,

  exhale it in breath made bitter

  with coffee, cigarettes, fear.

  Every word is heard, soon will come the day

  when those word-brave men will pay.

  But that was yesteryear.

  Now young philosophers gather here,

  so bright and so proud.

  Young things exclaiming loud

  through wine-fuelled nights

  of how they will put the world to rights.

  War is what they’ve read in books,

  mistakes their f
orefathers made.

  Never have they felt truly afraid,

  nor cowered from gunfire in the street.

  Danger seems absurd somehow.

  Only lovers need whisper now.

  QUESTION

  She was one of my dearest friends

  always there for me

  sharing my highs and lows

  so patient

  so comforting

  every day I miss her

  and I’m sure she knows

  As the illness took hold

  I determined to do my best for her

  she needed me

  she was the patient

  I the comforter

  I tried everything

  but I couldn’t relieve her misery

  I knew when the time had come

  she told me with her eyes

  I held her while she died

  impatient

  comfortless

  but she’d chosen the moment

  so l let her go and I cried

  Now it's just her shadow

  ever present, curled up

  on her favourite chair

  still patient

  still comforting

  I talk to her and tell her

  I’m grateful that she’s there

  But I can't help wondering

  if one day a loved one

  should suffer such awful pain

  out of patience

  beyond comfort

  would I - should I - find

  the strength to do the same?

  SCORPIO

  He looks at the Scorpio pendant, says

  beware the sting in the tail.

  Such a tired joke. She sighs,

  takes a sip of wine,

  looks over his shoulder

  at a more interesting man

  across the room.

  But for the moment this man

  has her cornered,

  stupidly sure of mutual attraction,

  oblivious to the danger

  her boredom will unleash.

  She touches the necklace.

  Molecules shift, re-sculpt themselves,

  and a ragged form wriggles free

  from molten gold.

  Scorpions and Scorpios are

  not so different.

  They both have a sting in the tail.

  Still he talks on, unaware

  of the menace scuttling

  across his tasselled shoes,

  and up his designer jeans,

  lethal tail upcurved

  like a new moon

  gleaming in a dark sky.

  She glances with amusement

  at his collar.

  Now he sees her mutated necklace,

  turns scarlet and gapes,

  silenced at last

  by a deadly tap on his shoulder.

  She glides away, her pansy eyes

  set on the other man.

  We can only hope that he

  pleases her,

  that he is as entertaining as he