Monthly Archives: June 2015

As the Lighthouse Blinks its Eye

As the lighthouse

blinks its eye,

the seabirds laugh;

as soon as coastal rocks

dive backwoods to the sea,

when boats below

do collide, harmlessly,

into themselves.

And as long as

the shore-wind blows

its crystal salt kisses

to nightwalkers lips,

scattering diamonds

along coastal paths,

the pebbles,

pulled by the moons lost drink

clap their celebration.

All the while,

glimpses of

an alternative life;

noticeable by chattering

at every opening of a door.

Everything,

near-bye,

chased by a yellowed light;

bathing and outlining

loyal machines as

they click;

to temperatures

of their original setting.

Somewhere

the tired,

the travelled,

stare at waters old,

new, then old,

from cliff-faces resting.

Before deeper into night

arrives a more peaceful light

and so the lighthouse

shuts its eye.

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Little Stone

You chose a beautiful stone; held its smoothness, smothering it entirely for

safe keeping, your lucky stone.

Then one day you skimmed it across an ocean. Never did it stop, that little

stone, not for one second, for it was unable to sink for fear of never being

found again.

Alone, it skimmed, alongside container ships and fishermen, over dancing

shoals, around islands, deemed lost.

It played with sea monsters, memorised the coordinates to shipwrecks and

lost aircraft.

The little stone also survived the greatest storms and skipped through

waters as flat as a mirror.

Only then did it pause for reflection. Then on it went, to find a perfect beach to

settle on.

On the beach, it rested, hopeful for another hand, your hand,

the Holiday Stone.

The Witch

DaddyDaddy!” I hear the fear in a small, distant voice.

Suddenly I am half awake.

Then I hear,Daddy!and the voice, less small and no longer distant.

I bolt upright in my bed; groggy, confused, heavy, drugged by my sleep.

“Ok, Ok, I’m coming I’m coming, what’s the matter? I’m coming!” I reply.

I take a glance at my wife’s uninterrupted sleep, I can’t see her, more feel her… She is there. With my eyes, not yet adjusted to the dark, I step out of bed and stumble clumsily. Using my left thigh like a blind man’s stick, I bounce, to and fro from the edges of my bed.

Until, eventually, I make it somewhere near my bedroom door, and I grab at it with more luck than judgement. I find the handle and pull the door open with more force than necessary. Gingerly I step onto the landing and find my son opening the door to his bedroom to meet me.

“What’s the matter darling?” I ask with whispered concern.

“There’s a witch in my room!” he whimpers. As I kneel down to his eye level he walks into the top of my shoulder and nuzzles his cheek into mine, I rub his back.

“A witch, Oh, there’s no witch,” I whisper calmly into his ear. There’s a temporary hush in background noise, then I notice the wind rush, buffet our house. I acknowledge the weather for the first time; it’s invisible force throws smaller unknown objects into the much larger and more guessable ones.

“It’s just the wind,” I say.

I kiss him on his cheek; looking over his little shoulder and into his bedroom, I notice something strange moving in my son’s bed.

Whatever it is writhes like a large worm, slithering in the darkness, I stare, panicked by its nonsense until the duvet cover falls away, exposing a face, it has my son face, no, it is my son.

In bed, my son calmly asks me, “Daddy, what are you doing?”

I’m unable to answer, for my shock injects itself into my rapidly beating heart, pumps a poison round my veins, I rot internally and then in no time at all, I pass out.