George

in my fathers study

holding a flannel to his thin

skin

black mountain vowels

in the oohs and aahs

of his comfort

nine

mile

point colliery

a 14yr old boy

in white

moleskin trousers

first name Alfred

eight hours on the tarmac

at Frankfurt Main

two in the air

four to get home

to be there

to be here

on Christmas day

a mona lisa magnet

gripping you to my fridge

I hold my sisters

shoulders

you talk to us

about Chrysanthemum's

I think

white star line

s

s

doric

to canada

painting the first class cabins

20 years of

saskatchewan, edmonton

calgary, british columbia

vancouver island

winnipeg flying club (1934)

tiger moths (1939)

picking gooseberrys

me

wheeling sarah

around your garden

in the old hulk

of a wheel barrow

and

the violin

you made

from a wardrobe

in the apse of her sleep

in the apse of her sleep

mosaicked allegories

histories dreams

the minutiae

dissolved in waking

rests here

each tessera

in telling

one story

tells

another

may you be

propelled

by a smooth

teeth baring

velocity

may your courage

be ferocious

your body strong

mind slick

as an eel

if you hit a wall

lick the blood

from your face

leave a mark on it

break it down

let the varnish

sparkle

let the undertones

nourish

sink each tiny square

into the cove of your mind

love freely

with a rock in your hand

parry the doubt

strike a spark

love in any direction

be fierce

growl at it

whorl

around the stem

of your story

lick your lips

be filled

the panorama

from where I stand

astounding

as part of One Stop Wednesday One Stop Poetry

and the gift was in the giving (but the joy still hurt)

my alluvial purpose

now apparent

I feel the fierce

(unbound)

vigor

of the water

(beautiful)

rushing out

rushing over

I am the riverbed

not the river

I am the tributary

not the confluence

I am delta

(I am)

distilled

threaded through a liquid wish

absorbed condensed expelled

I shape a mouth with my sediment

form words with sand and mud

a voice

avulsed into life

the pith of this

(in the parentheses)

I love your children

a diet coke, a green straw

your nervous hand

tickling half melted ice cubes

two pints

of real ale

your first

almost

date

I was there.

A rushed

velocity of emotion

tumbled through my shoulders

when you walked down the aisle

I cried

a raw

humbled howl of happiness

and when Bethy

retraced her steps

earnestly picking up

each petal she had scattered

we laughed.

I remember your children too

the idea of them

in conversation

and hope.

unspent love

spent

courage

thinned

through absence

I grieve for you

for you both

I grieve the loss

of not meeting them

in my arms.

I love your children

chasing the sunrise from a train window

the mosque

surveying the street

it has painted for me

the sky

it has coloured

the mosque rests

brush handle up

still dipped

in the paint pot

how to tell a story

stroke the crevices

of a crumpled piece of paper

smell the dirty walls stained with living

thank the timber structures threading light

illuminating narrative, a monologue

a pause

see the story before

and the one before that

imagine a season

the smell in the air

((It's painted right there))

imagine the texture of a song

each note swinging from the eaves

rip a piece off

an entrail

place it in your pocket

pull the greasy chain of the backdrop pulley

put your full weight into it

climb the scaffolding

sand down the walls until your hands go numb

lick the dust from your wrists and sit

exhausted

centre stage

((be brave))

and speak

Part of One Stop Poetry's Picture Prompt Challenge. Photograph taken by Jacob Lucas http://live.jflphotography.com.

we share skies

we share skies

the cool blue bruise

of my evening

a flushed

cheek

in yours

we share skies

curling lip

of young

dawn

an

older

gaping

mouth

we share skies

long shadow

of noon sun

wavering

defeated

we share skies

frayed swathes

of light

narrow

into

pin pricks

all the days flavours

gathered

collected

remnants of conversations

peel off the subway

walls

train numbers twist

into time tabled

digits

fish plates clank

under thick heavy boots

workers

ooze

onto

the track

stress fractures

soothed

current isolated

brash bark

of ballast

the only sharp

sound I hear

part of http://onestoppoetry.com/ one shot wednesday

this tight

knot of words

loosened

by the tug of her finger

she did not know

I would unravel

into a tangle

into her tongue

I climb

the wall

a precipice

a plateau

from here

the landscape fresh

before my eyes

stretched far

beyond the curve

of her back

her body

a gradient

I slide down on

bare feet

touch ground

strange and new

each texture

dangerous

until trusted

the pressure in my palm

your hand

I hadn't noticed

resting there

she carves the night

she carves the night

into

a

gutter

a throat

chimera's swivel

their hips

and

invert

mortar

no longer

safe

air around

now protected

fat oblongs

of history

two parked

next to eachother

compelled

by the

bourdon bell

we spill

into the

square

into

the Seine

I smell

of

river

of burnt

wood

this is

disparate

this is

radiating

lines

a

vascular

vaulted

cathedral

ceiling

I think about

Caliban

I think about

Ariel

like a cumin seed

caught

between my teeth

I always

hated

Prospero