Just Tanka (2010) – Claire Everett

Copyright Claire Everett 2010.

All rights reserved.

 

 

 

last day of the year

reawakening

a pressed flower

the scent of my name

between the pages

—

a blackbird’s song

twilight touchdown

on melting snow…

we’re not so different

you and I

—

through winter mist

the dark weave of bare trees

at dawn

chaffinches begin

their tapestry

—

you’re not here…

I write a poem

with my finger

across the sky

dot each ‘ i ‘ with Venus

—

your love

polished amber

set in silver…

a roe deer gazes

from the thicket of my heart

—

dancing snowflakes

see how the breeze wears

winter’s fingerprints–

I love that you know me

in all my details

—

night’s breath

on the dandelion clock

of a winter moon

I’ll give you the world, my love–

a snowflake in my hand

—

he says he loves me–

a butterfly lifts

from a rose…

an earthquake

in my heart

—

new beginnings…

the flame of a candle

in the darkest night

this moon

When the Deer Shed their Horns

—

song of the out-breath

night stretches

to the far reaches

of the hills–

I fill my lungs with sunrise

—

a ship

in a bottle…

the child in me

still sailing

an impossible dream

—

this flame

the colour of silence

until you move

out of reach…

lunar eclipse

—

winter solstice

this darkness without you…

feeling my anguish

the night has taken

a bite out of the moon

—

winter solstice

her grandmother’s hands

as she lights the fire

now becomes then

in the scent of woodsmoke

—

this love for you

too much to say…

towards eclipse

the full winter moon

drinks of a lavender sky

—

scent of breaking light

the shortest day

this night

a black flower

we have pressed between us

—

so this is where

all the blown kisses gather…

winter catches her breath

on galaxies

of snowflakes

—

time and again

washed up on the sands

of loneliness

I was the shell

you held to your ear

—

scraping the ice

off this window of dawn

hungry or not

one hundred beaks

of birdsong

—

for you

feeling the weight of winter

imagine the scent…

hyacinth blue

this December sky

—

watching the birds

picking over the bones

of winter

this time of the ancestors

something in me stirs

—

towards solstice

garlands of sunrise

as finches dress

the living fir tree…

we want for nothing

—

whenever

I try to share this beauty

with you…

snowflakes

on wet asphalt

—

in the end

it is nothing more

than a rusted anchor

and the sun on the yard arm

of this great ship of dreams

—

the comfort

of knowing that the wheel turns…

the saffron threads

of a white crocus

winter sunrise

—

broken

I find myself in exile

in this unknown territory

that used to be

my heart

—

mist on the mirror

life’s signature

so transient…

all it took was one breath

and you were gone

—

the bitter truth

we keep under wraps–

between the tinny notes

of festive songs

a homeless man’s thin plea

—

loose change

the possibles of this day

cold in my pocket…

nestled deep in the lining

the coin I don’t want to spend

—

in the yew wood

the mystery of the runes

as yet uncut

depths of me I did not know

took shape in your hands

—

rising on tiptoes

she steals

her first kiss…

Venus blooms

in the twilight

—

a quicksilver sun

takes the last of the snow–

nothing stays the same

you always said

never go back

—

the ghost of a gull

through herringbone clouds

I still feel

your hold on me…

invisible fingerprints

—

indigo

stippled with silver

twilight paints

a sky

for Vincent

—

snow melts

and the world runs clear…

I write

to uncover parts of me

long buried

—

moon

hangs from the night

by a fingernail–

the last words you said to me

chime silver through darkest space

—

passion and peace

alive in one flame

imagine

the snowdrop

pushing through darkness

—

one held breath

a phial of light

flows in stillness

a moment’s icicle hung

on the bough of forever

—

this winter day

egg shell blue

and blown glass…

with careful steps through my mind

a memory of you

—

swathed in melting ice

the delicate limbs

of the ash sapling –

spring waits

glass-slippered

—

what can i do

but watch it melt away…

the icicle

of a poem

on the tip of the day’s tongue

—

nothing

to take the chill

off this dark morning

words set like stars

in frozen ink

—

these veins

swollen with the meltwater

of dreams…

deeper than the night

this song of myself

—

dancing

back into dreams

cheek to cheek

with the warmth left

in your pillow

—

ice on the river…

deeper than the flow

of yesterday

the song

of now

—

melting in my mind

this one intricate fragment

of the everything

a snowflake moment

magnified by your touch

—

catching sight of you

across the crowded room

of time

over and again, this love

remembers its passion

—

last of the snow moon–

empty handed

open armed

nothing to give you

but all of me

—

what we feel

what we say…

I watch it rising

over the snow

a mist veiled sun

—

the softest

pianissimo

not a note

out of place

falling snow

—

night wind

humming to yourself

as you shape the snow

listen…

my heart knows your lonely song

—

snow breeze

lilting and falling

white light

this song

of seven colours

—

the wafer

of communion

melting

in my mouth–

snow moon

—

covering

her nakedness with a cloak

and cowl of ermine–

no animal dies

for the fur winter wears

—

your past

comes home to roost–

they say the crow

was once

white

—

winter sky…

the words of a poet

dance as butterflies

over the deserts

of my dreams

(for Paul Smith)

—

I don’t seek

to understand life

or love

but hold you while you’re here–

snowflake in my hand

—

this moment

where otherworlds collide

the weight

of snow’s silence

a crow on the wing

—

morning sun

on the snow

the seed cake she made

a feast

for a song thrush

—

always the brush

of the unwritten–

a sky

of snowflakes

on a seagull’s wing

—

are the snows early

or the geese leaving late…

all these years glad

I love you

were the last words I said

—

of wing and claw

in another world

crow–

in this world

only shadow

—

fallen leaves

float under ice

I write

to set insects

in amber

—

the poet

and her Eskimo muse

out walking

in an urban legend

and one hundred shades of snow

—

how they danced

over the mountains

over the sea

silent notes of ivory

the siren songs of snowflakes

—

tilt your face…

all these words I want to say

words of love

falling and falling

a sky of snowflakes

—

if only

we could freeze time–

breathless

the snow clings

to the willow’s unspent gold

—

the world

upturned

we wake

inside

the snowglobe

—

rushing to meet you

so glad you’re home

the house

takes a breath

of the cold, night air

—

morning sky

brushed with the scent

of coming snow–

trying to remember

how our silence came to be

—

what is it

about poetry?..

words gathering

like fireflies

around my darker moods

—

ripped out

but still beating

coursing with mother’s love

home

is where the heart is

—

white roses

and fresh linen

neatly folded

even her letter

smells like home

—

and so

the wheel turns..

little birds

gathering fallen fruits

for next summer’s songs

—

you and I

how did we know?..

how do the snow geese

always find

their way home…

—

hearthlight…

all the songs

that make a home

swelling in the breast

of a robin

—

the stars

and our dreams

gathered up–

night draws in the cords

of her velvet pouch

—

if we but knew

we are all refugees

gathering

in the creases

of time’s ageless palm

—

white roses

and fresh linen

neatly folded

even her letter

smells like home

—

in the garden

of my mind

a blackbird tilts her head

listening

for the worm of a poem

—

a crow with a crust

a thrush with a snail shell

all day

this ache

inside my head

—

at last

a little time

to rest my mind–

flipping my pillow

over to the cool side

—

faraway

beyond the raindrops

on the window

I tread the beaten track

to my own wild wood

—

where did I hide

that memory of summer?..

the boundless joy

of a squirrel

through the willow’s fading light

—

so still

that distant house and I

no more than breath

this life unravelling

into winter sky

—

wiping away

the rouge of sunset

night tastes the longing

in the pale lips

of this geisha moon

—

mist on my face

from the nursing Mother

all that was and is–

breath of the living

breath of the dead

—

through the mist

sunrise –

pricking my mind

on the thorn

of a poem

—

the shock

of the frost knuckled darkness

my breath

making a show

of me

—

scene after scene

the slate wiped clean

the child in me

plays with the etch-a-sketch

of this grey November day

—

looking for treasure

in this November grey–

blue, green, purple

the iridescence

of a magpie’s wing

—

enough

to know that somewhere

an osprey

has stirred

this mountain mist

—

November rain

slowly playing Chopsticks

side by side

on the piano seat

the sisters we once were

—

sunrise

the mist begins to clear

the last drops

of your touch

rolling from my skin

—

I put my ear

to a wall of fog

to listen

to the bare trees

singing

—

through the mist

the song of a bird

I cannot name–

these shapeless words

that call from dreams

—

for just one

gleaming white moment

my mind is a gull

cut adrift

from the weight of this day

—

such mystery..

the shape of a gift

wrapped in blue

I wonder what this day

holds for me

—

as if

I have always known them

I read your words–

the music of other lives

passing through walls

—

beneath the footbridge

a pearl grey heron sips

the flowing stream–

this night

of half forgotten dreams

—

a patch

of dawn sunlight

on the quilt

this day an open book

of poems

—

November

the world upturned–

when dreams

are bare trees

rooted in uncertain skies

—

with ice cold

raindrop staccatos

the wind tunes up

for the winter concerto…

Vivaldi smiles

—

the bare birch tree

a stringless cello

played by the wind–

when you cry, all I can do

is hold you

—

samsara..

winged maple seed

blown far from your tree

we are not so different

you and I..

—

this moment alive

with what must be..

kayaks of leaves

riding the swollen river

of the wind

—

rain

threading the darkness

all these hurts

unseen

but felt

—

bare rowan tree

I need a space in this day

to call my own–

drinking my fill

from your cracked cup of grey sky

—

a journey

under changing skies

my life

this life

mere passers-by

—

dawn

after the fireworks

a wren opens

a new batch

of sparklers

—

throwing my mind

from this edge of gold

where a mountain

lifts autumn

to the hawk heights of blue

—

a flash

of that familiar fire

when her eyes meet mine –

a woman I used to know

turns away from the mirror

—

already written

the stream of this day

flowing

to the song

of itself

—

a breeze

of robin song

stirring

the wind chimes

of my heart

—

released once more..

I watch this memory

make one circuit

of the dawn and return

to open hands

—

as birds tuck their songs

under the star flecked wing

of night

I feel the brush of words

best left unsaid

—

glistening

in a hazel shell

a kernel of rain –

much have I learned

from the shape of loss

—

to take up my pen

and write with such ease..as if

poetry were breath–

from one song to the next

a robin

—

butterflies

then leaves

this path of shadows–

let us paint our dreams alive

before we’re ash in the wind

—

quilted

with the scent

of your absence

a patchwork of dreams

stitched with robin song

—

her eyes paler

than the yellow leaves

flying behind glass –

between gusts, the grey cat

licks her injured leg

—

the loneliness

of the urban gull

crying

at every corner

of a concrete sky

—

the golden main sail

hoisted on the cries

of wind blown gulls–

your message

across the miles

—

every second counts

in a moment

of sunstruck stillness-

nothing stirs this abacus

of night strung rain

—

November mist

woodsmoke rising

from the last

of the campfires–

the ghosts of summer’s songs

—

from light to shade

all things must pass

tonight I am flame

these words,this flesh

make of me what you will

—

I know

how you feel, crow

caught between worlds

cinder winged

in a bleached bone sky

—

all through the forest

the stream’s vibrant song-

when my mother dies

it will fall to me to sing

of the time before my time

—

in the glow

of their own

footlights

the last dance

of autumn trees

—

stretching

the full length

of her autumn shadow

the black cat embraces

the willow’s song

—

October’s end

where the space between worlds

is a wing-beat

the shadow of a swan

above the wind blown reeds

—

moonset

one by one

the master jeweller

returns the diamonds

to their velvet pouch

—

towards dusk

on a blue rippled sky

cirrus prints

where my mind

has wandered

—

chasing its tail

in the wind with these last breaths

of fire –

the dragon of autumn poised

to coil back into darkness

—

my heart

singing with the robin

as my daughter kneels

in autumn light to plant

the scent of a thousand springs

—

may I wear time well

like the gold flecked willow

still shimmying

as autumn’s fading notes

fly into the wind

—

you slip three drops

of that exquisite liqueur

into my cup

to mask the taste

of your lies

—

gold and cinnabar

the milled wings of moths

taken by a breath –

one moment of autumn

lost to the winds of time

—

words

that brush lips

with dreams

rousing me from sleep

to say they are leaving

—

my thoughts

are falling kites

of sycamore leaves

lifted

by the scent of pine

—

a tanka string

running down a glass sky

in the veins

of raindrops–

the flow of this day

—

a breeze

plucks the harp

of the ash tree –

a little flourish

of autumn rain

—

a maple leaf

colours the breeze

just when I need it

a smile

from a passing stranger

—

as earth stretches

towards winter sleep

in the hollow

of her back

tiny kisses of sunset

—

songless

the female robin–

yet, listen!

how the poet’s heart sings

when she finds her voice

—

a wisp of cloud

sunlit in endless blue–

the piece of my workday mind

that keeps drifting

back to you

—

..times when I feel

I don’t belong here

a touch-me-not

in these foreign lands–

Himalayan Balsam

—

with you

to share this journey

days no longer end

but smoulder, ashed with stars

into another shade of sky

—

your name in the mist,

my cheek against the glass

of a cold, blue sky

still, I wait for you–

half moon

—

this breath

of clear blue stillness–

my eyes settle

on the zigzag

of a falling leaf

—

dawn

I have inked my dreams

on a scroll –

your hand brushes mine

beneath the pillow

—

in which life

will I find

the ink

for this flock of words

crossing the sunset

—

whispering

take nothing for granted

the feather-brush

of pine and fir

across my autumn mind

—

twilight

shades of delphinium

deepening

summer memories pressed

between two pages of sky

—

with each breath

my thoughts become lighter–

plumes of pampas

brushed rose

with autumn light

—

morning breeze-

I caught you before the rush

swinging

on the garden seat

listening to a robin

—

the veins

at her wrist –

ink clouds in water

night empties

into a still sky

—

a drop of joy

slowly spreading–

sunlight

in the bird bath

rippled by a dove’s wing

—

these refugees

crossing the bridge

at dawn

shades of poems

my tattered dreams

—

undress me

from the dark silks of the past

your lips

on the curve of my shoulder-

crescent moon

—

sunset

these torn out pages

folded into paper cranes

converge on a lake

of unwritten words

—

above autumn’s flame

white clouds bloom

in a copper sulphate sky-

here is a chemistry

I understand

—

the turning

of a leaf-

who could not be

spellbound

by autumn’s story?

—

the soft sway of words

to the music of dreams..

so begins

the dance

of poetry

—

thoughts melt

into green feathered distance

the running watercolours

where pines stir

the mist

—

autumn -

time and again

taking a leaf

out of the book

of sunset

—

so close

to a memory of you

your colours tinge

the fingertips of a dream

but I touch only shadow

—

I wake

high in the hills of dawn

my clearwater mind

spilling over pebbles

of birdsong

—

pausing

this moment

as the flame of a memory

takes hold -

horse chestnut

—

each time

I clear a path

through this day –

the poetry

of autumn leaves

—

we look for greatness

yet it only takes a shift

in the light

for a cobweb to become

a gateway to a new world

—

daybreak

a magic painting book

rain loads her brush

and reveals the colours

of a robin’s song

—

finding you

was the click of the gate

the scent of roses

the worn step –

my heart’s homecoming

—

incoming rain

an ink stain spreading

across the sky

as I read your message

muted birdsong

—

autumn dawn–

rising from the hills

of sleep

her fresh face blushed

with robin song

—

years later

I unfold the map

and plot a course

through these forgotten waters

of my heart

—

you ask

if I believe in free will –

a shift in the light,

raindrops on a spider’s web

burst into a thousand suns

—

this moment’s flame

burning on the wick of now

in the passion

of becoming

we melt away

—

summer

is old news–

flying hot off the press

the colours

of autumn

—

the floodgates open

as autumn pours out

her heart

scarlet and gold

on the stones of the wind

—

remembering

our long goodbyes

just one more kiss…

over and again, the last

white butterfly of summer

—

softer autumn light

our fingers interlaced–

I wonder

would such love have been wasted

on a younger ‘us’..

—

nothing left to give

then this sweep

of red maple leaf sunset

and my mind brushed

with autumn light

—

clear blue dawn

I set my mind skimming

like a stone

across the lake

of this day

—

this day

uncurled her fingers–

the gift of a bird

and with a colder hand

plucked another from the wing

—

life moves on

I open an old box

of emotions

gingerly unwrap the tissue

handle the glass

—

where night knelt

like a pavement artist

to chalk the colours

of my dreams–

morning rain

—

after the rain

the cellophane

unwrapped

a new box

of birdsong

—

like butterflies

your words touch

my heart

so delicate and unaware

of their own beauty

—

dusk

the ghost of a sky

and a brush

of sadness

I cannot name

—

in the golden silence

that surrounds this ancient oak

you can hear

a leaf

drop

—

autumn

first fires of oak

I tell my thoughts

to go on ahead…

I’ll meet them downstream

—

through dreams

the flame of your touch

before dawn

the red silk

of a robin’s song

—

I see myself

reflected

in a floating world

and then the bubble

pops

—

a ray of light

drawn from a stone sky

from another world

a robin sings the magic

of an ancient time

—

a memory

of summer –

a butterfly’s shadow

crosses the mind

of the meadow

—

in my mind

I return to a scene

from my childhood

and dust for the fingerprints

of his forgotten touch

—

her fading beauty

hair of red and gold

summer

has fallen

by the wayside

—

summer’s end

a new page

in her sketchbook

a sky

without swallows

—

skin from skin

undressed from each other

we wear the day

with the scent of love

in the hollows of our mind

—

your touch has my heart

all at sea–

back on dry land

I still feel the motion

of the waves

—

my mind goes wandering

over the distant hills

seeking the simple comfort

of a deeper shade

of blue

—

I listen

for the song

of stillness

in the everflowing stream

of now

—

love

is upon us

before we know it

like the first fires

of autumn

—

I ask the honeysuckle

how it is

that love can be

so beautiful

and yet so complicated

—

grey morning sky–

my dreams of you

so beautiful

they drained the colours

from the dawn

—

autumn begins..

best laid plans

and blackberries

rusting

on the vine

—

feelings

too elusive

for words–

a butterfly’s shadow

on the grass of my mind

—

my daughter

I feel the colours

of your unfolding

and my heart goes with you

to paint the sky

—

may we wet our lips

on the sunset

and live long

in love

and poetry

—

at times

I have the urge

to slip quietly away

like a leaf

downstream

—

from sand

scattered to the wind

to blown glass–

I am shaped in to beauty

by the breath of your love

—

whirling

into the blue

of this moment

we are two butterflies

arcing to electric touch

—

summer

so fragile now

her wings

begin to crumble

on the breeze

—

clouds drift by–

riverboats gliding

deep in wine-dark shadows

along the summer

of a distant memory

—

floating candles

on a stream of birdsong

one by one

the stars of our dreams

blink out

—

I turn –

without warning

the sunflowers

paint your smile

upon the breeze

—

as dawn

rests her cheek

on the pillow of a distant hill

I wake to your heartbeat

beneath my ear

—

dawn

lays down a wash

of blue

and invites me to paint

another day

—

I come alive

in your hands

you are my rippled reflection

the sea

of my sunset

—

walking through

a revolving door

in my mind–

thoughts keep returning

to you

—

I am dusk

tearing this sky

from the notebook of the day

and throwing it

in the flames

—

my head

still in dreams,

the pillows of the hills

still deep in the heather

of dawn

—

too early to leave

too late to stay

the agony

and the ecstasy

of our long goodbye

—

a hawk moth

passes the window–

I am haunted

by the ghosts of lives

I might have lived

—

draw your finger

through the dust of my mind

unsettle my thoughts–

one breath

and I am gone

—

cross-legged

in front of me

this day

is waiting patiently

for me to happen

—

high cirrus clouds in blue–

the held breath

of our first kiss

exhales its mist

on the glass of my mind

—

dawn

another poem to write

and I am a word

on the tip

of the day’s tongue

—

the day slips

into something more comfortable

pours herself

a glass of sunlight–

summer dusk

—

night tells me a story

so intimate

it is written

on my skin

coloured by dreams

—

still following

the grain of my dreams

I long for the day

to carve me

into something beautiful

—

this sky a scroll

of silk brocade–

my mind a brush

painting the stillness

of a distant gull

—

the wings

of a peacock butterfly

laughing with the colours

of a windchime

breeze

—

with the latent energy

of a universe

of dreaming damselflies –

the fall

of twilight

—

on the cliff edge

of blue

I feel the wind

beginning to lift

the wings of my dreams

—

this moment

an oasis

in the sands of time–

come,

drink with me

—

gliding scissors

through silks

of sky

swallows

making summer

—

this moment with you

tucked away

stitched inside

the day’s

silken lining

—

on the other side of the glass

this day of words

untouched

let me go out

into the rain

—

the path of this life

a thousand raindrops

on the window

which one

shall I follow?

—

spiralling

into your breeze

my heart

weightless

veined with sunlight

—

a poem

takes me flying

under the radar

where the day

can’t catch me

—

longing for you

to undress my day

already

my thoughts

are unbuttoning

—

waking up

to this new life

stretching out

into every corner

of you

—

your love

is the blood

of sunset

seeping through the veins

of my sky

—

summer–

the dying song thrush

singing

to her last breath

in your gentle hands

—

we take the clay

of the night

and mould it

in the shape

of our love

—

my mind clears

with the continental drift

of clouds

in this sky

of atlas sea-blue

—

my heart

is stocking up on supplies–

today might be

the day my world

comes crashing down

—

postcard from a dream:

knee deep in sleep’s meadows

wild poppies

drowsy with sunset–

wish you were here

—

this moment of beauty

comes at a price–

my mind

held to ransom

words gagged and bound

—

even these moments

of winged beauty

have dark undersides

and darker

shadows

—

wings closed

you have become

a harp of colours

strummed by the breeze–

butterfly

—

poetry–

words born of flame

offered back to the stream

to sing in the flow

of forever

—

the sadness of this day –

my thoughts

slowly crumble

on the mountains

of the clouds

—

even in its din

this day carries a silence

that breathes

deeper than the breakers

of our lives

—

your hands on my skin

are swallows

seeking out

every square

of unswept evening sky

—

you folded

the loose pages

of my empty days

into origami birds

that softly flew away

—

what use

is this sea wall I built

around my heart

when you fill my veins

with the perfect storm

—

pinned out

in morning light

the wings of my emotions

one crush away

from milled gold

—

like breath

love makes no sound

and has no shape

until it fills us –

until it empties us

—

this summer

of our lives

let me ride pillion

through the back roads

of your dreams

—

like a rose

unfolding on the breeze

there is no end

to the mystery

of you

—

blood sisters

the stream and I

connected

in the flow

of our veins

—

finches flicker

beneath the hush

of green…

the forest

is dreaming

—

my mind

becomes the sky

no more than an arena

for the grace

of gulls

—

from the other side

of the garden

does the rose

see my thoughts

unfolding?

—

pilgrims

at the shrine of dreams

words

leave offerings

in morning light

—

graceful hands

enscribed with henna birds

wrap this dawn sky

in a sari

of endless blue

—

my thoughts

are butterflies drifting

moment to moment

through the colours

of your smile

—

and a time will come

that is no more than the sun

on the yard arm

of this anchored

ship of dreams

—

sinking like silt

to the lake bed

of my mind

thoughts find

clear water stillness

—

if my words

had the slender grace

of herons

they would do justice

to this paper sky

—

the broken hills

of tomorrow

sketched in charcoal

across the skyline

of my mind

—

miles away

a piece of the stream

is still singing

of the loss

of the heron’s reflection

—

listen

a strip of the night

uncoils

hankering for our flesh

to fill it

—

the heron

startled

wears the grey tinge

of my regret

in its departing grace

—

silks unravelling

in your hands

you slip

the cares of the day

from my shoulders

—

the path

of the stream

is not straight

the beauty of the song

lies in its meandering

—

I wait for you here

at the edge of dusk

blue veined

pale skin

of longing

—

skin to skin

curve and hollow

shaped by need

we are the contours

of the night

—

my mind

is a Red Kite

wing tips reaching

for the edges

of your boundless sky

—

no greater peace

than the deep green silence

of the trees

when the breeze

has moved on

—

we wake

to the certainty

of each other

as a mist of birdsong rises

from dawn’s empty shell

—

seeking nothing

in return

the stream shows me

how to find stillness

in the flow of the moment

—

I rescue

this frozen filigree

the lacewing of a memory

from an upstairs window

of my mind

—

I want to seize

this moment

like a Hobby

plucking a dragonfly

from the breeze

—

I ran

the last green field

of dreams

flying the blue kite

of the day to come

—

the black koi of night

turns on its tail

becomes

in flip side iridescence

an orange dawn

—

white whirls

in cotton blue

the retro sky

has spent her morning

doing tie-dye

—

thoughts of you

and my mind

is spindrift

blown across the sea

of this day

—

honeysuckle

in bloom

cogs that turned

in the colours

of sunrise

—

little more

than a flame in the air

on which she dances

the butterfly never asks

why she is here

—

evening

the brushstroke

of a swallow

sweeps my mind

away in blue

—

feeling

like she may never end

summer

turns cartwheels

in hazy blue

—

a piece

of my childhood

still lies

in a rock pool

waiting to be discovered

—

a lifelong friend

the stream fills

the gaps

of an old

half remembered song

—

under a sky of dreams

clouds make a play

of ever changing light

and my mind’s mountains

live out their dramas

—

awake with dark thoughts

or else my mind

is so transparent

I can see

the night through it

—

wanting the prism

of a moment

that will bend

my mind

into a rainbow

—

dawn

the scent

of honeysuckle

straggles

of dreams

—

her lips

so soft

bruised rose

by his kisses –

morning sky

—

from rolling hills

she rises

already unravelling

in the moon’s

fingers

—

she follows his breath

as it traces

the blue veins

of the miles

between them

—

moments so sublime

they never were…

the wafer of blue

where sea

meets sky

—

I would walk again

the eggshell path

of my life

to feel this wind

lifting my wings

—

dancing

cheek to cheek

the wind

and the wild rose

exchanging breath

—

in the spark

of a firefly’s mind

he is a dragon

breathing

fire

—

watching the clouds

a future me

wonders how

so many years drifted by

insubstantially

—

the dark angel of words

locked up in my mind

is yet to realise

the bars

are only dust

—

like a peppered moth

on the glass

a poem on the inside

looking out

wanting to fly

—

when my life

flashes before my eyes

I will still make out

the colours

of you

—

a moment

brushes me

with its details

the cells and veins

of insect wings

—

so long

treading water

I swam

against the current

and found you

—

her voice

now thinner than grass

hard to believe

she used to roll up her sleeves

and fight my corner

—

green spider

on a blade of grass

a poem shares

your burden

of fragile beauty

—

in the hollow cheeks

of night

I see

the shades

of all my fears

—

from a ledge of sky

I watch the pebbles

of your words

rippling

full circle rainbows

—

I took myself

to the edge

and dived

into the colours

of an unknown you

—

if I walk away

from this moment

I will forever hear its sands

running through the sieve

of the stars

—

layer by layer

in coral coloured deep

my thoughts

build the reef

of this day

—

stripped down

to bare song

I long to be the blackbird

flinging its soul

into the twilight

—

the tread

of my thoughts

on damp pine needles

releasing the odour

of dreams

—

intervals

of loneliness

illusions of touch

passing like deer

through trees

—

give me the poetry

of the night

where all is ink

but meaning dwells

in the unwritten stars

—

flickering

in the lantern of me

too frail for life’s winds

the shadow of her flame

still dances in my heart

—

we are clouds

in no rush

to fill

this easy blue silence

between us

—

I surrender my mind

to the stream

where thoughts are no more

than the cadence

of the stones

—

now

our breaths

synchronised

we have become

the night

—

his finger

traces

my lips

no need for words–

dark moon

—

splashes

of crimson

a winter rose

counts syllables on snow–

cinqku

—

still it rains

every last drop

wrung out of the sky

both of us

emptied

—

Sand Man

for a dream’s breath

three decades of mourning

slipped away

through your fingers

—

knee deep

in summer meadows

I ask for the grace

of one sweet flower

to wear in my hair

—

my mind

hangs

like  a rope swing

at the edge

of this moment’s stream

—

walking a path

of broken stones

I stumble

on a future

of unwritten poems

—

feathers at rest

her head in the clouds

eyes still burning

with the colours

of freedom

—

finding

the blue needle

in a haystack

of blue sky–

damselfly

—

in the flesh

of a poem

the raw beauty

of a moment’s

exit wound

—

the spaces

between

your words

offer up

worlds

—

with none of the selfishness

of lovers

this moment and I

ask nothing

of each other

—

thinking of you

I am matter

dissolving

people walk

straight through me

—

sitting in silence

I listen

to everything

the day doesn’t

have to say

—

across the web

the fly

of a poem

felt

as a tremor

—

in a wash

between thalo

and indigo

a blackbird

sings Vincent

—

all I can encapsulate

in a raindrop

to set it running

down the sheer face

of thought

—

after the heat

of the moment

the rain of words

evocation and release

a concrete musk

—

butterfly

poised

on a blade tip

by still water

wild iris

—

each raindrop

a prism

waiting to be drawn

by a bow

of sunlight

—

some moments

so fine

they engrave themselves

on the glass

of your mind

—

as rain

turns away

the stealth of scent

through the window…

lilacs

—

a breath

of colour

a lifetime

passing by –

butterfly

—

watercolour

rain and lilacs

edges blurred

Monet

smiles

—

washed ashore

from wild seas of dreams

to find the sky

hoisted blue

loud with gulls

—

to live

without poetry

is to be buried alive

in the colours

of dreams

—

I pull back

to see myself

a dot of colour

walking the eternal landscape

of this moment

—

myself

a dandelion seed

blown through dreams

by my own

breath

—

time away

the sweeping arcs

of meadow larks

the chimeless mantle

of mountains

—

words that fluttered

at the edge

of dreams

crumble at the touch

of thought

—

in the darkness

the rose

writes poetry

with the ink

of scent

—

the day

shivers

as the sun

trickles

down her spine

—

a poet

sets a moment

in amber

yet

watches it fly

—

clouds breathe mist

on a glass sky

the fingers

of my mind

run wild

—

night rain

patters

on my tin roof mind

words run down

the gutters

—

a butterfly

finds joy in her wings

even

if no one

is watching

—

I started writing tanka and gogyohka in spring 2010. This page is where I blog the best of my Twitter poems, updated most days.