Mantra


Its gathering in the storm, and
I gather my weeds, stand facing it.
The force blows through my dreads and
each one lifts in fear,then lies back to cower
in this billowing. I stand weak kneed, small,
terrified to my core but
still standing. For lying, is no option for
the gladiator about to face certain death.
My only weapon is laughter, I throw back my head and
Peal. Even when the wind knocks my mir...

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This is a poem I wrote to myself to mark four years of living in the United Kindgom. It has and still is an experience. Many things have happened, most of it, life. I find myself asking questions and it doesn't feel very celebratory. I guess I just miss many things.

Fruity Flowers To Myself

 

Heart is in my mouth.

Part for fear, another with grief

This soil moulded me,

Its familiar grittines...

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Do Enjoy.

BUS RAGE

 

It was hot about 37 degrees and he was in a foul mood. He had been waiting for the bus for almost an hour under the boiling sun and when it arrived, it was packed full. The doors opened and the odour of sweat, perfume, faecal strangeness, meat and potato pies hit his nose. He swayed on his feet as an elderly lady took her time coming down the bus step. A boy in a grey hoodi...

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This is my take on hearing a fellow poet breathe in a quiet writing room I was sharing with him. To me his breaths eluded wisdom and grace and it floated towards me, carressing my head in benediction.

Abi

 

 

Arise

Intermittent staccatone of warm clothes

Parting from reluctant chairs

Thunk of a glass snogging the hard

Steady surface of a table

The soft rasp, whistht and little zips jingl...

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