From the Heart
Some people find it hard to talk to talk about,
others find it hard to say,
and there are those who spend their lives searching for and never finding it.
Love.
(Some of these poems might be less than loving. Just saying.)
What I Meant to Say Was
Something else
I meant to say ‘I love you’
But I said ‘Elephant’ instead
Not the sort of thing you expect
Whispered after a romantic meal
As you lower yourselves
Onto an eager bed, is it?
‘Elephant, darling.’
Why did I say ‘Elephant’?
It wasn’t a comment on your weight
Or your skin - I’m not so insensitive!
And besides, you have beautiful skin
Elephant has three syllables
Same as ‘I love you’
So maybe that’s it, maybe I have
Some weird brain disorder
That automatically converts
Important three syllable sentences
Into the word ‘Elephant’
Of course , it doesn’t apply to the written word
But say it out loud?
I’ll phone you later and try
If you take my call, obviously
After tonight’s debacle
I wouldn’t blame you if you blocked my number
It’s not my safe word
It’s not an insult
It’s not a neurological misfire
Is it because I’ve never said to you?
Has telling you how I feel
Become the elephant in the room?
Perhaps it could become our code word
For ‘I love you’ - it could work
(If you ever spoke to me again)
‘Elephant.’
‘Elephant too.’
‘Elephant, with all my heart.’
Deep
So deep
Fish fish for other fish
With luminescent bait
Fashioned from their flesh
Deeper
Breath bursts from the breast
From lungs like panicked paper bags
Never to inflate again
Deeper still
Supercritical seawater seethes from smokers
Where heroic microbes subsist
On chemical magic, eschewing light
Deepest
Down here, below the nether vents
Under pressure unimaginable
And nightmarish razortoothed
Icthian anglers
Under all this
His love for her
Thrives
Drawing a Line in the Sand
One longshadowed morning
Just after sunup
Against a salt-tasting breeze
While out walking the dog
They draw the outline of a heart
With a wormy length of driftwood
Then trample all over it
Later that day
They smile secretly
As their duplicitous partner
Returns late again from the office
And complains of chest pains
The Cake
His birthday cake
A lake of blue icing
A creamy-sailed yacht
Neatly bisecting the surface
With its wake.
She said to the
Cake-maker: ‘He’ll love that - he’s a
Keen sailor. Always on the water with
His yacht mates.
Now, is
Delivery part of the service
Or is that extra?’
So she thought she’d
Surprise him on his birthday
At the yacht club that Saturday
Deliver it herself, as the cake-maker’s
Charge was extortionate,
Disproportionate,
She thought.
And you know what?
It was a surprise, for all concerned
Particularly the chiselled young
Sailing instructor, who had found
Some innovative uses
For all those knots
He’d taught
And her husband’s
Eyes, already wide, widened
Further in surprise as she entered
The cabin, unexpected
Armed with cake
The cake flew, not
Aerodynamically
But ironically
Considering the decoration
Didn’t float, simply
Sank over the side of
Her husband’s yacht
Into the murky depths
Under the quay
Appeared in the GGP Collective: Spring Quarterly 2024
The Anniversary
Every year, same night
She drives to the silent bay
Walks a slow circuit
Of the moonlit harbour
Carrying a plastic bag
Slowly approaches
The quay by the old yacht club
Kneels on the platform
Takes a toy boat from the bag
Solemnly burns it to ash
Scatters the remnants
Out over the water
Smiles as she does it
She’ll be back, same night next year
(They never found his body)
Unromantic Love
Our love
Is turmeric
On a white t-shirt
Our love
Is Grandma’s purple beetroot pan
Our love
Is permanent marker
On a dry wipe board
It will never fade
It is ingrained
Indelible
Our love
Is.