Storm Petrels

Hello readers,

I have a flash fiction story up on Page&Spine magazine this week. ‘The Freedom in Me‘- read it for free.

And tonight’s poem- Storm Petrels. Thanks for reading these and may you be safe through storms.

Black petrels,
knife-winged,
sear through
storm clouds,

breaking the
sky
with flight.

We, softer
must stay,
wrapping our
arms and legs
entwining
into one
starfish.

Great wails
of wind and the
sea overturned
carries unknowns
across our
fragile shelter.

Between tridents
of lightning
and the blackness
of oyster-deep
pearls

we press our
hearts together
creating a moon
between our hands
fingers pointing
north.

Along with
driftwood, kelp
and shells,
the petrels land
in a bright morning.

We, soft, stand
on shore
and begin our
flight

hand entwined
in hand
pointing north.

Advertisements

The Shape of Love

I do not know
the shape of love
though my life
has fit its form.

Not in a human shape
reflecting two faces –
a newborn.

Nor in a ring,
a golden, endless
circle infinite
in its holding.

In the first
yellow daffodils
after the
bones of winter
break

just as the sun hits

the moment of bloom
and the next moment
when their graceful
dancers’ heads
bow and drop

that describes
the shape of it

how we bloom and fall
in an endless, golden
circle.

Cloak of Stars

Put on your
cloak of stars
and walk among
the rich
and poor
of heart.

Walk among
the tender flowers
until your feet 
smell of lavender
and roses.

Let the breath
of the summer wind
catch the whispers
in your heart
and carry them to
be spoken by
the trees.

Bring the flowerless
the scent of flowers.

Among the starless
be a moon.

White Moon and Rose

The white moon
weeps the
color of night

and each of your
tears
is a star
upon the floor.

Red-eyed birds
sing
to your
red, raw heart

and take wing
in the rose-colored
morning.

Though
the color of night
still dreams on
your skin

dawn
dresses you
in softer
pink skirts.

Don’t be afraid
to carry them
both

the pines will
know

one who loves
still walks
in this world.

Red Rising

My mind colors
the moon

a red rising
in the night

that bathes
the black canvas

of deep,
secret water.

Those in the
starfish depths

holding tight
to seeming
solitude

surface

look up
and color

each other.

There are
crests of
roses

upon the sea

and the great
pulse of the

great heart
of the world

beats in our blood.

Blue Boy

Maybe it’s because
he reminds me
of something
I lost.

Maybe there was
a new boy
blue boy
I held to
my heart
and he held
me

maybe
that happened
in the midnight
moonlight
one night

and it was
the most I’ve
ever seen

of the colour
of night.

Now the dark
has deepened
and hid the moon

and I’m left
with the absence
of blue.

A simple poem- I hope readers enjoy it – a midnight sort of poem.