by

Learn to Fly in Four Easy Steps

After ‘Gravity is the Thing’ by Jaclyn Moriarty

• Step 1 – Start small.
Just jump over a small obstacle,
no more than a few inches above the ground.

Maybe you don’t see that as flying
But as long as your feet leave the earth
it’s a start. I wouldn’t recommend flapping
your arms, it draws attention.

It’s mainly the landing you need to master.
Absorb the impact.

• Step 2 – Once you have gained confidence
you could try jumping up from a chair.
Now you need more focus, look for the currents.

Watch birds on thermals, see how they
glide, sliding easily through the air, relaxed
and fearless.

You may not think it necessary
to concentrate at this point. After all, jumping
from a chair is child’s play. But beware of uneven ground
it can cause a crash.

• Step 3 – Don’t forget to fill your lungs
With good clean air, it will help with lift.

Study the branches of the nearest tree.
See how even the smallest leaves sway
in the merest breeze.
Sway to that same rhythm.

Remember how birthday balloons catch the air and float away.
Imagine how it feels to float and view the earth
from a great height.

Balance.
Let your arms rise.
Try and touch a cloud.

• Step 4 – Now lay on freshly mown grass.
Gaze up at the vastness and fill your senses
With the wonders of the sky.

Close your eyes.
Breathe in freshness
Feel the earth beneath you.
Become aware of the lightness of you.

Let yourself go.

Fly.

by

Progress

In the Cathedral of the wild
It was fine to be naked
To have leaves dapple
Our brazen skin
As we lay together in bliss
observing the shifts of the blue
Bird ridden vault

In the temple of the city
We hide ourselves
Shrouded in shame
We covet worthless trinkets
And lie
restless under soft white sheets
watching reels of horror on bright screens

Still the church of change
marches on
with crosses made from fallen trees
held aloft in hot winds
that carry the ashes of prayers
for earth’s failing heart

by

Fruit Eater

didn’t I once take a ripe plum in my mouth
and allow the juice to dribble
from my lips
wiped it with the back of my hand
felt the map of veins
through my skin
knowing I was pulsing with life
both solid and fluid
and didn’t I once know that it would not last
that state of being
and that I shouldn’t waste the juice.

by

Dolling up Grand Aunt Mary

When she came
we painted her eyes
with shadows.
We pinched her cheeks
until they ripened,
and slicked on a clown smile
with a bright honeyed stick.

We wove black ribbons
through her grey red hair,
and sharpened her nails
with the roughest emery.
We draped feathers around that
withering neck
and told her she looked like a film star
from the forties.

She endured our ministrations
with tight lipped patience.
Too gracious to grumble,
too refined to complain.
Afterwards she’d nibble biscuits
and sip sweet tea
through the cockles of her
clown mouth.
Then, wiping crumbs away, would say
‘Now children, go and play.’

by

Moving

How do you weigh a house?
The bricks and mortar, tiles and chimneys?
No doubt those guards are weighty.
Surely include the landscaped garden,
its drooping flowers,
and heavy seed heads?
The shrubs, the herbs in pots?
The ponds?
The lolly stick crosses of long missed pets?

The contents are substantial.
Soft sofas and chairs
Imprinted with cosy evenings,
tables laden with feasts,
wardrobes full of outdated fashion,
beds crumpled with comfortable passion.

Oh, and the books. The shelves,
and shelves, of books.

How do you weigh a house,
where thoughts expanded,
where children left their giggles in corners,
where the halls still echo with the stamps
and slamming doors of angry love?
Where images of daily living in the living room
never fade?

A house where you can still find pine needles
In the carpets of Christmas pasts,
and there are still stars on the ceiling,
stuck there on a little girl’s whim.
Where hugs and waves and tears
tarnished the front door
after you said ‘I’ll be back soon’.

How do you weigh a house
that is at once so empty
and yet
so full?