Under the moon the slow impulse called me.
I felt the danger
I would lose my soul in your soul
to please you.
All the shadows were soft-sugar grey;
the thought of the proteas shone through.
Poetry?
Poets in pyjamas
Poets in pyjamas
Autumn’s open fires
Warmth that surrounds us
Cats stretch and uncurl
Books and pens and papers lie now abandoned
Your hands
Chill summer gale
Come sweet zephyrs of the southern seas,
Come flattering breaths of gentle gods to ease us on our way – No?
No, we must remember our place and it is here,
Remember our place and hirple head down into the teeth of the chill summer gale.
Edinburgh 01 June
Why is a crush called a crush?
Because that is what it feels like.
Inside my chest your fingers hold me tight.
Your smile touches my private heart
which flips and fades and shivers on itself.
And then you are out of the room.
Spring morning
I dive in the raging ice river
stand dripping, defenceless in the sharp mountain air
but nothing can cool
the pumping heat of longing
Nighttime wish
Sleep well.
Dream of those things
only you know.
Your sleeping breath
my inspiration.
Running a distance or lying quite still
And then those days when the physical is all
We move in our bodies, the sun, sea and wind
Cherry blossom and birdsong are background to our heartbeats
Beyond the far horizon the mist clears.
Both
A last whisper, last touch, as clear eyes close;
soft story dreams leading.
Later, the tingle below the skin wakes the morning and limbs
and then, in the sunrise, the words.
She is gone
She is gone.
All that remains the kingfisher colourflash.
And the song of the swan in the silence.
Invader
Invader, you can do many things to me.
Many bad things.
You shall not touch my family,
nor my friends,
nor my olive trees.
simonsalento 