Wednesday, 6 April 2011

The First Hint of Love

There are days when I cannot find
any formal explanations

- for example the sudden thrill
that pierces an unknown part of me
when I first meet a particular person
or view a certain scene.

It is as if my soul grown old
flowing rich and deep
and full of juice
                 gave an electric wink
back down the years to say, hey
this is no momentary image
on a moving screen, you

have just met the beginning
of your shared history
- as each year passes,
this person,
this place,
will add and add to itself
to become more oceanic,

more loved, more truly
known - and so carefully

poured like honey into your soul

it will be impossible
to think of your life without them.

Sunday, 3 April 2011

Passenger on the Water Taxi

Why would a woman live alone on an island?
Hide herself away from love and friends?
She’d have to be a recluse, self-reliant, maybe
weird? – Or have a very strong belief
in being some sort of emerging artist

choose one or all, it can’t be easy.

She asks the same of herself – if she knew
she would answer – though she can’t
imagine anything other than island life.

But I can tell you. It’s the boat in flight
away and back that holds her there:

her relaxed slump, her trance-blank stare
don’t reveal the involuntary rush of joy
flooding her limbs as her eyes drink
up the sea, in all its green blue-green moods

as if once again she’s following the call
of a memory like a migratory bird.