Carve within your soul a space
For all you want to do,
All other lives, no better place,
To navigate for you.
Ego’s lease, no lesser rate,
If others would deprive,
Nothing more may captivate
Than knowing you will thrive.
No more boors to prop a door
Enforcing your denial,
Renounce a vestige of their chores
And write your script awhile.
Create a space within your day
And see your lines alit,
As incremental time gives way
To charm, and grace, and wit.
My feet are a foreign land
As I stand where surf relapses,
Whitecaps are my family
And encapsulate with great
My lifetime of experiences,
An escapologist, an emphasis,
My bare toes in saline curls,
Where is my soul’s house
In this here and now?
I too loved the feet of her odes,
As measured as moonlight
With feminine verbs,
I caught a punctured headlamp
From a lane that would curve
And chicane until it meets
A coastal kerb, above
The haunting cove,
And I am compelled,
Once again, to restart,
To daylight’s return.
On periwinkle sands,
A mustard-coloured heart.
You have your side’s tidyness,
My side’s still its usual mess.
If we swapped, I’d take time
To trace those crests and hollows
Where your resting shape resides,
Refill your empty cup of sorrows,
Folded clothes conformed
To your uncontested beauty,
Ready to be stored in drawers
Like confessions in a chapel,
Like reforming resurrections,
Routines diminish duty.
Middle night and middle storm,
I reached for where your milk was stored,
But darkly your side metamorphed
Before I realised, and with great design
The bed of life revolved once more,
Mechanics wheezed while agents yawned.
Now I’m trapped where blankets lied,
Transfixed by how I lived and died;
You wake, shower, prepare for work.
When feeling down in deeper depths,
Self-loathing flooding ten regrets,
The sure bouy’s back and surfacing fast
On waves that whisper ‘never last‘.
There is my rock to which I cling,
Where oldest sirens preen and sing,
Dressed in feathers I caressed
While pecking at my sunburnt flesh.
In succour I bloomed for an hour or so
But little considered my loosening soul
Would fill where prayers refuse to go,
In briny, speluncar fish-bone holes.
And though on sailing I depend
I always return to that place in the end,
The flock is feasting on my heaven
While my senses drain and deaden.
I convince myself, like many others,
That I’m alive and that’s enough;
My brothers below betray such comfort,
Empty-eyed beneath the bluff.
I woke, the awful crows transformed
In to an ambulance outside dorms;
A student there departs once more,
To a different, distant shore.
Ode to a narwhal
As yet unwritten, yet I
Know I will be one.