Bring your cracked smiles and tall tales
to my patient table.
Purple rings stain the grain; life leaves marks.
Let fly your cackles that snap and spark in the dark
corners, urging a sluggish grub to quickness,
to feel her still-sheathed wings.
Wine flows like talk, easing the hinges
of doors to past selves, and window catches
to new views, fresh air.
Word-weaving we thread together
the magenta warp of deep laughter,
the soft pastel weft of mundane sorrows
to magic cloth that wraps and warms
souls gone grey with routines we never dreamed
and gone-over loves.
Blurting secrets in a jolt,
like a wine bottle knocked.
Red-spreading pool blotted, but indelibly inked
Into the Rorsach of maturing friendship.
In the hiatus, eyes meet.
And Judgement’s place in the cold is sealed
With a re-filled glass.
JAN/FEB 2017 AUTHOR OF THE MONTH at Spillwords.com
A mother of two boys, scribbling from the Western coasts of the UK, mainly poetry, but whatever comes out really. Former journalist and PR professional, the first whispers of middle age and declining eyesight made having a real go at 'real writing' a little more urgent. A Cornish native, I made my home in South West Wales so the sound of the sea sighs through my work every now and then. Lover of nature, yoga, boutique coffee shops and occasional (and very dreadful) surfer.