No rose without a thorn
No blood-red petals without the power to rip.
Weak flowers wave pale against a cotton sky
but crimson tearing is the heart.
Poetry?
Spark leads to spark
Spark leads to spark.
And one day the fire.
That moment
That moment when the sun comes out and
your heart relaxes.
The first rays of sun, the first unsure smile;
and the weights of the world disappear.
That moment.
Shopping list
On the shopping list, you wrote “plum toms”.
I read, and bought, “plantains”.
How we laughed.
Until I bit into my sandwich.
Awake
My eyes saw you; my heart did not. I was asleep.
At the end of the heart’s night the sun came up and you were there.
Thank you.
The sun peeks over the office block
The sun peeks over the office block;
squinting, we rattle down the blinds.
Unseen ideas now shimmer in;
frowning, we put our blinkers on.
I could see Fife then
I could see Fife then
I couldn’t but
I could see the Forth then
I couldn’t but
I could see outside the window then
I couldn’t then
the snow
You smile
You smile; slow sunrise
warms across my frozen heart –
now, forever, summer.
Believe our dreams
Our dreams are not coloured smoke that trail in strings from our hard-clenched fists;
Our dreams are light, morning breaking night, the rising sun beyond the clouds.
Remember, remember
Remember, remember,
The 5th of November,
Gunpowder, treason and plot.
And, in the middle of the night,
That thing with the rabbit.
simonsalento 