Sign up to our newsletter
I am the clash and collide of the starsbecause I create worlds.
I am the awareness of the treesbecause I hear the wind.
The living room remembers Gran dancing to Count Bessie.The kitchen can still hear my aunts fighting on Christmas Day.The hall is worried about the loose banister.
My love is like a well-read bookwhich makes me smile each time I look.It shouts and whispers, roars and singsit grounds me and it gives me wings.
Furrows unfurl,Carved by the plough – Curl, fold, fall back:The skin peels away.
A poem is not an Antbut it can be quite short.A poem is not a Bananabut there may be something under its skin.A poem is not a Coat