In The Light of Thieves

In The Light of Thieves


An unmistakable presence in the room,
lingering without revealing,
observing through unopened eyes,
the ghost of the season watches all.
He sways in a draught like a reed by a river
as fluid as the moonrise and
gentle as a warm summer night;
but it is not summer, not now.
We feel him testing the presents under the tree
teasing the corners of carefully wrapped extravagances
whilst casting looks to those without.
Thieves he calls us,
though not with malice.
We sit in the hues of myriad sparkling lights:
vermillion; sapphire; citrine and more
wondering if everything we’ve never asked for
has fallen from the stars;
there are those who only have the stars,
and even then only if roofless tents
are granted cloud free skies.
Christmas, a time of such joy and good will,
yet so hard to understand.
The seasonal ghost turns from us now,
he can’t bear it any longer.
He has dawdled as he dwindles,
as have we.
There was so much more to see
in his short window of time.
There is so much more to see
in our own.
But will we?
Shall we?
Can we?


Me and Two Birds

The crow sat on a branch bobbing and weaving like an agitated asylum inmate. He eyed me. I eyed him. Something transpired between us, a battle of wills. It was jet black eyes versus grey with only one winner. He flicked up his tail feathers and launched into a cawing of such raking voracity I thought he’d fall off his branch. He didn’t, unfortunately. He stopped when he saw I’d got backup.
“Stupid crow!” squawked my pet parrot and flipped him a claw.
The crow watched us both, cawed again, then flew off into the bright, summer’s day.
I wasn’t really sure which of us had won, as the nurse came in with my medicine. She was in a flap.
“Have you brought Polly a cracker?” I asked.
“You and that bloody imaginary parrot,” she hissed, plonked down my tablets and a beaker of water, then stormed out of the room.
That hurt, but I held my tongue. I threw the tablets out of the half-open window just as the crow flew back for round two.
“Stupid crow!” squawked Polly

Cradled in Tears


 Love cradles my heart,
 Suspends it in tears.
 For it was broken
 But, thanks to you,
 Seeks to be healed,
 Bathed by your sadness
 At how you found me.
 And, when it is,
 Whole and beating,
 Pulsing to your love,
 I shall hand it over to you;
 And smile;
 And be happy;
 And breath, again.

 (Image courtesy RoxRio on