Tag: prose poetry

Calendars

The smell and taste of cockles at the seaside always takes me to a certain place in a calendar. Calendars are for guidance; experience creates our own. January, was that not the time we discovered schadenfreude?

Shipwrecked

Between a sun and crescent moon, he stood on deck and filled his lungs. Wind circled in the palm of his hands. Pithy, these thoughts of meditation, cacophonies of bondage caught inside an untranslated meaning of a smile. A man’s world was always noisy. He preferred the roar of cities, the motion of land, and people. He gazed at the shadow standing by the Bridge of Baiae and asked why lakes carry a belly full of sky. Then let his hands fall, like the colour of jade, into uncaring waters.

The Anatomy of a Hare

One paw touched a cold kerbstone. I thought she was a jill. Her form too feminine for a jack. Against the wet tarmac I saw long ears with black tips, longer hind legs, distinguishing her from a rabbit. The fur on her back was dense, brown and grizzled, yellow colouration on her flanks led to a soft white underbelly. Maybe she was a witch? Her eyes were still open; startled as they searched for the moon.