Holocaust Memorial, Berlin

Some stories need stones
To tell them since silence
Best speaks them. Some
Stories need eyes to hear them
When speech is given
To ghosts. Some stories
Need space to write them
Footfalls to walk them, steps
To trace them, falling as
Leaves and floating in
Sighs, caught in beams
And shining in shadows
Some stories are best told
In open places where the blue
Sky watches the tree seed
Escape your searching eye.

No automatic alt text available.

Advertisements

Love Poem

Love is a new city
Walked through street by street
Love is holding hands
Love is aching feet
A new city is uncertain routes
Unhealthy foods, unempty
Seats. A new city is seeing
New things well after you’re
Totally trashed and beat.
Love is knowing home is in
Cities old and new when
The journey home is always
Far, and 19 years too few.

Trees in the Courtyard

Image may contain: tree, sky, plant, outdoor and nature

Enfolded by homes the trees
Rise gently from cobbled floor
To skies bent with bluish blush
On doors that let you go, release
You into the arms of the green
Breeze breathing your first flush
Of the courtyards embrace. Turn
Your face to their wings of light
Bright whispers flying into the day
Showing you the long straight spines
The upraised arms that will send you
On your way.

 

That moment when

The Chandra clan hangs out
In the city, yakking about
Their feelings and those of
Others, sharing trauma and joy
Laughing till the tears come,
Nodding over some moment
Of childish fun, stories of
Grief, love, how rarely they meet
Until one looks down and sees
The curb at her feet and since
She’s quite bright, memory nudges
And she wonders when the light will 
Change so they can cross the street.

Fly Me To The Moon

I don’t want directions. Signs
And arrows, instructions, and
Soon, who knows, a checklist
Of do’s, don’ts, definitely nots. Just
Give me wings, don’t make me
Flap my arms and tell me I must
Flap faster if I want this to
Work. And that wind beneath
My wings, for the love of god,
Don’t make me search a
Lifetime don’t make me crawl
Under every stone, fall
Into every ravine, creep
Into every crevice, sleep
Away a lifetime just so I
Can keep dreaming. Beaming
Moonshine at me isn’t hard
To do. If you really want something to
Point me to, turn my face so
I can see the turning blue planet
I was meant to be. Each ocean
And mountain clear to my eye
Every leaf and stone exposed to my
Moon-standing self. I’ll fold
My wings, blow out the wind,
If once I could see everything
I am and was meant to be.

Image may contain: sky and outdoor

Living Organs

As dusty brown as the loft
It rests in, its rusty crown
Soft with deflected sun
It’s keys ivory yet not so white
As to shine in the battened down
Window’s muted light
Such pipes as once breathed
Majestic airs, silver-gleam
In proud ranks still. Place
An ageing organ wheresoever
You will, it is part of a body, a
Living thing. Climb the stairs,
Open the doors, walk the floors,
Hear it sing.

Image may contain: indoor