Tag Archives: fly

Circling Cipher

 

Like an albatross I fly

iImitating his movements,

refusing to lay eggs

on snow or ice.

 

I will lay my eggs

where ashes lay thickly

amongst lush growths

on rocks at low tide.

 

And still they will be hit

by the Antarctic air

and ritualised threats, or else

under that of a volcano, in fear

of being boiled alive, they will

just like the golden lizard

sneak to rescue at the risk

of scorching feet

just like us trying to beat

the waves and build

the best nest.

 

And black lava moves

like classical music

over rocks

and high volcano peaks

force clouds to drop

rain to fertilise ashes.

 

And as iguanas are brought

the rare chance of a drink

we are provided with fires,

the fires that give life.

 

And as small fish clean big

penguins stand like gravestones

overlooking cold seas

and a reptile dies on hot rocks

to keep a young bird alive.

 

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On the edge of time

Don’t you see
It is ever-changing
I am not
the one I was
I will not be
the one I am
and that is why

I can hold on
to my hopes
body spiralling upwards
following the inner-child
the mind-butterfly
weaving frantically
a new me
resting in-between
your legs around
body spiralling upwards
ever-present lover-being
just be with me now
here
is all I ask
and do not
ask of me
to stay this way

It is only one of the plateaus
where
we could freeze and make our bed
cover ourselves
with duvet-branches
and promises
of stagnation

We could stay curled up close
to the cliff-wall and
each-other and not dare
to look down
like
wing-clipped birds
in the cold of the night

Or f*ck that fear
throw a stone towards ground
and look down to
echoing sound
hold hand-wings as we move
in the other direction

Stand up
See
cliff wall become our ground

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Life in-between

Like a stone, solid
By the brim of the sea
If there is more to it?
Only waves beat me.

Fragment, segment, ligament
Meet bone, rock, meat.
I was an excavated sphere
Conquered, emptied, forgotten.

Now I lay bare and
only the sun licks me whilst
dried grass pricks my skin and
I remember that face smeared

with marmalade and smiles
but my blood
will not
make rivers here
this is not
my final resting place.

I just want to memorise the skies
sculpt the clouds on my skull
their complex pattern of catacombs
the way a swallow flies.

It makes no sense to wonder
so I lie still and pray
not to close my eye, encircled
by fossils wanderings and a gliding vulture.

The spread of my wings, their weight on the ground
my ear to the earth and the ticking of time.
If anything can be known
it is out of the mind.

Porous, dissolving
I am at home
but will be going back.

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