Monthly Archives: January 2016

The Cutting Garden

I discovered the garden one summer afternoon

Its high stone walls offered shade in the heat of the day.

Curving arches coaxed me in, along paths lined with violets, chamomile and fern.

Wallflowers, warm and velvet, stroked my legs,

Diverting my senses with colour and faded perfume.

Brazen lilies cat-called from the back row,

Towering over tulips,

Mouths deliciously parted in scandalised mock-horror.

Shafts of climbing sweet peas, tangled in withywind,

Reached out to grab my wrists as I tripped and almost fell,

The cobbled path less even than it seemed.

I sank to my knees then, assaulted

By a soft, ripe bed of shameless peonies.

Big, brazen blooms of open-faced beauty.

How I craved them, rubbing my face in their scent,

Tugging their petals and pulling

Generous handfuls to my lips, my mouth,

Breathing in their musk like a lover drowning.

I reached for the knife in my pocket, and hacked at their stems,

greedily scything, frenzied with lust for their passing beauty.

Gathering their heads in my pollen-stained arms

I ran back down that path,

Laughing at my floral indiscretion,

My torrid love affair with bloom.

The Treasure Hunter

Curled, like ammonites, together,

Like orphaned siblings tangled.

You are friend, lover, child, brother to me.

The whole of life’s love, in all its myriad shapes.

Through the fog of my childhood passed,

We two, wave-tumbled pebbles,

Washed up together side by side upon

This foreign shore of later years.

These days of wonder, sea-glass misty,

Edges rubbed and softened with time.

I see you as you were,

Though worldly-wise to rosy-tinted hues,

And as you are, sand-blown,

Of perfect imperfections.

I scoop you up, my beach-combed treasure,

My secret, holding you close,

And, happy as a mudlark,

Head for that safe place I know now

To be home.