Pitchblack night, no stars. Hold my hand, I’ll stop you from falling – then I fell. Two lying in the mud, crying laughing.
Board games
People did not notice when the owners of Cluedo bought the owners of Ludo and were then bought by the owners of Udo. Business was less interesting than board games. But they noticed, though too late, when the owners of Monopoly bought all of the others – which then suddenly disappeared.
Losing you
Losing you, my mouth
And ideas dried.
Water me again.
Hunted down
The young man ran, fell to his knees, ran again. His breath was ragged, the swirling night mist a cold knife to his lungs. He fell again, groaned. Behind him in the darkness a light tracked from side to side.
His hands sinking in mud, he levered himself up and staggered on. The light drew closer then suddenly was gone. He crouched, breathed, swallowed a sob. The light snapped on again. he covered his eyes. “Yer da says hello.” Two shots cracked and echoed.
A long way away a phone rang. “Done? … Good…. The other half will be with you when I see the photo. I need to see it…. It’s so important you hunted him down and held him. I miss my boy so much…. Held him…. What? Held him…. Held him!”
On the phone there was the sound of breathing, of the wind and then silence.
Every day
Leave it. It’s not worth it. Walk away.
The somersaulting evening starlings signed to the sun.
The fading sun, reluctantly, dipped below the horizon.
You know I’ll be back, it growled.
The moon peeked pale-faced from behind the clouds.
Every day, it said. Every day.
illustration © Ross Gillespie @bigblether
When all the clocks
When all the clocks tick toxic
When all the stars are magic
When all the clouds disappear from above
There is only one thing it can be –
Salt for a reason
All I could
think was I
wished my
tears were
not salt. They
scoured and
scarred the wounds in
my heart.
One day friends
said. I
doubted.
Bushel
He hid in full light, a shadow invisible between the beacons. Damp light is easy overlooked and overshone, raw talent takes pressure to spark diamond sharp. With time his eyes became clearer and noticed, but the glow of his words faded in spotlights. The crash of a lightwave foreshadowed flowing; life stories stuttered and ended.
On feeling a story
The imagination of the senses: the sight,
the smell, the touch – oh, the touch –
the deep deep stirring words bring.
On World Poetry Day she said
Don’t like poetry. Don’t like poems.
She said.
I like words.
She said.
Your words. Not poems.
She said.
I did.
simonsalento 