Glimmer

What's a glimmer

She asks

Some small thing

That fills us with

Happiness and delight

And can turn 

Your mood around

She considers

Like having a cup of tea

She suggests 

Exactly so

Little Cricket

Or seeing the sun

Shine through the window 

Filtering through

The leaves on the tree

Or hearing a bird sing

At dawn

Holding hands 

And skipping

She squeals with delight 

Just being us

Is a glimmer

A flash of light

In the darkness

A small charge 

Of electricity

Proof that

We are alive

I like that

She says

Closing her eyes

Just you and me

Safe in our blue sea world.

Take This Poem

Alice takes the teacup

Lifts it to her lips

Her hair tumbles down

Her shoulders 

It is silky 

Like raven feathers 

My shirt has holes

It remembers every burn

The pain 

The photographs

The bandages 

How long have we been stuck

In this chamber 

This house 

This bunker

So long we have forgotten 

The cause 

So many signs unread

So much story unspoken 

We will take our jewels

Bury them in the topsoil 

Just like we take

This poem 

Plant it and hope it grows

Alice puts the cup down

Smacks her lips 

What a lovely cup of tea

The joy of the day

Reflected in her eyes

I lose myself 

And sink into her

Ready to absorb the sun.

Peter and Alice

All children

Except one

Grow up

She looks at me 

From across the room

Her blue eyes ablaze

With life and wonder

Which child 

She asks

Peter Pan 

I reply

He can fly

Curious she says

I flew too

When I dropped 

Down the hole

And when I drank 

The potion

And nibbled the cake

And I am still a child

A wise child 

I say

Like an old woman

Dressed in a blue frock

And white pinafore 

With black shiny shoes

What did Peter wear 

She asks

Green 

With a hat 

And he had a fairy called

Tinkerbell 

She tuts 

Well that's just silly 

Hatter and dormouse 

Have their own magic 

Perhaps we all stay the age

Of when we were written

Stuck in the pages

But free in the imagination

Of those who read us

Find us

I could be forty-eight

Or eight 

Like you

Does it really matter

She asks

No little Cricket

We will let Peter fly

And carry on with

Our own adventures.

Oak Skin

Our skin is like bark

Old and broken

The wisened tree

In the woods

The weeds grow

At our stump

People walk by

Sometimes they pick 

A little of our bark

We imagine the gaps

Like bruises

Alice wishes for some potion

And it appears 

She sips a little

And giggles

Spinning on her tiny toes

Like leaves

Rusling on branches

The music of her turning

Keeps me strong 

One day we will

Visit the forest

See the other 

Oak trees

Run our hands over the bark

And feel like

We belong.

Broken Glass

We put on our boots

We are going to walk 

In the field 

With broken glass

We like the sound

It splinters like ice

On snow

Maybe we will 

Drag our fingers

Over the glass

Let it tear our flesh

Just a little

To prove 

We are alive

We have done this

For many years

When I was as young

As Alice

She giggles

Your flesh is as red

As the Red Queen

That is why we

Do not leave the room

We are tired of 

People staring 

Wondering

Not asking any more

Our boots sink deep

Into the grass

And shards

It is like a meditation 

Walking 

Is 

Being

And amongst the shimmers

We are here 

Walking to a rhythm 

We can only hear

Marking time

Breaking glass

Indestructible in our leather boots.

Dolls and Masks

 

On bad days 

We dream in 

Black and white

Lost boys 

And a little girl

Carrying dolls

Mother wearing a mask

There are rocks and trees

All things to stumble on

Skip 

Trip 

Fall

Like jerking awake 

From a micro sleep

At least they are together

Says Alice

Like you and me

Wandering all over the world 

A small world

I think 

Just like a photograph 

It has edges

A frame

But nonetheless a story inside 

On good days 

We dream in colour 

Fantastical hills 

Helicopters 

And foreign lands

Are we scared of getting high

She claps her hands in glee

She is never afraid of

Potions or cakes

She does not need a doll

And my face is already

Scarred 

Like a mask

We linger in the scene for a while

Think about what they 

Will do next

We are glad 

That we have met them

Shared in their journey

Awakened from the dream.

Photo credit Ralph Eugene Meatyard

Finishing Touch

We pipe vanilla frosting

On to the top of the 

Fairy cakes

Like the way our lines end

It is our finishing touch

Her hands are sticky

But her eyes are alive

We can cope when it is quiet

The big dog scares us

We huddle up in bed

Try not to hear

Its bark

The thumping of its feet

We place the cakes 

On a pretty plate

And put the kettle

On the stove for tea

It is almost a ritual 

Something simple

With a beginning

And an end

She wipes her hands 

On a napkin

I let cool water

Wash my fingers

Splash a little on my face

The cold helps too

The heat makes us sleepy

But there is still a day to go

Before bed

And dreams

The things we like best 

Perhaps that is

Our finishing touch

Closing our eyes

Both happy 

And sad

That another day 

Has passed.