Harbour

Image from Wiki Commons taken by RevDave and used under the Creative Commons Agreement

I have a dream where the dusk is falling

And I can hear the sound of the sea birds calling.

The wind is soft and the air is warm,

The storm has passed and the sea is calm.

The fishers are home on the turning tide,

Their boats tied tight to the harbour side.

The steps lead down to the quay below,

Clean and safe in the lamp's soft glow.

Just step, I know, on the wide, stone stair.

Just step, in the soft and dreamy air.

A gentle path to a solid quay.

And a harbour safe waits there for me.

I want to fling my cup

I want to hurl it at the wall

I want to watch the tea dripping

I want to see the dark fluid staining

the bland, blameless wallpaper

I want to see the fragments

rattle and tinkle across the floor

I sit and primly sip

Waiting to be released.

Displacement

The cupboards need cleaning, I'll turn them all out,

 I can check all the contents and move stuff about.

I'll rotate the cans of the sweetcorn and beans

And won't have to think what a eulogy means.

This floor is disgusting, I'll get it scrubbed clean.

I can move out the chairs and sweep in between.

I can polish the legs of the table and sink.

I can scour and rinse and I won't have to think.

The table needs moving, it's in the wrong place

And tablecloth's edged with the wrong kind of lace.

It all needs renewing or at least turning out,

Which means no time to think what tomorrow's about.

I've dusted the top of the doorway and door,

I've counted the candles and twice mopped the floor,

Tomorrow's the funeral, but I've no time to think,

As it's far too important to scour out the sink.  

Frost on the Moon

Frost on the Moon

Image from WikiCommons, taken by José Eugenio Gómez Rodríguez and used under the Creative Commons Agreement

There's a frost on the Moon

The cold, shivery light is tumbling down and the frost comes with it

It gleams as it slides over the twiggy trees

There's a frost on the Moon

I rest my hot, hot face against the cold, cold bedroom window glass

The heat of the argument ebbs out into the cool, clear night

There's a frost on the Moon

The street is silent and pools left from this morning's rain

Reflect back at the empty sky and the falling frost edges them

There's a frost on the Moon

The silence is scattered by a strolling cat

As the knocked can rattles into the empty street

There's a frost on the Moon

The frost is falling and slipping down the street

My hot heart's pain fades and drains as I watch

There's a frost on the Moon