the sun sets softly
a young bird’s feather on the cheek
as the evening breeze rises
the sun sets softly
a young bird’s feather on the cheek
as the evening breeze rises
when we are gone there will still be rainbows
light fractured through our loved ones’ tears
He was a man in that way that energy rises
rust-red from the earth beneath his black toe-capped boots
A man to his palms and his knuckles and fingers
scarred by rivets he had caught and men’s heads he had broke
Real boys don’t cry he shouted as he cuffed me for crying
and boys hit first in the face no forgiveness
but as he lay helpless, clenched fists on the bedsheets
as the energy soaked down through the world he had conquered
as I finally knew what was his was now my world
as my face lost its colour remember he said
what I’ve often told you that real boys don’t cry
one last thing to remember
men do
Post today:
a brochure extolling the delights of Dumfries and Galloway and why I really need to go
an explanation of how my small monthly direct debit donation will help teach people in developing countries to sew
and one I have not opened yet
because you never know
It’s that day
that special day again
that once a yearly day again
with hearts and flowers
and hearts on cards
when you will say to me
you love me
and I will say to you
I love you
It’s that day again
and
just like every day
I love you
snows are approaching
winds change direction
dreams fly higher still
higher in the hills
a season’s rain has fallen
tonight the river through the village will rise
and, white, will wash the rounded rocks
the moss on the downstream sheltered sides will remain
a branch falls
a shower of crows
spout up from their strutting place
flap stuttering a short yard or two
and settle again
in the stubble
you stroke my chest
with white swan feathers
your eyes show
you know what this means
my heart bleeds
hiding in shadows
the cave is cool and dry
we stand at last and face the sun
inspired by Sylvester