It never quit, yet somehow, it halted.
Spluttered, spat and fizzled
then faded out of sight.
A Catherine wheel of fiery
energy that once had spun so fast.
Rotated sadly, slowly, powered
on by momentum of former glory.
Finally just a stationary statue
still pinned upon its pedestal,
a totem pole, a fallen idol
to a following, long forgotten.
Its ashes carried in the breeze
from dust those words had come,
now returned to earth, reclaimed.
When we learn to listen
There is a lyric, somewhere,
lost
between the altruism of truth and hope.
I saw a man today,
crepe paper skinned
encased in an ancient armchair.
Twinkle in his eye,
from his lips came a century's
memories in a blink of an eye.
His nurses laughed as
stories of his long forgotten
brothers in arms melded
with grandsons and a wife…
Too beautiful not to share!
Extraordinary
That you placed me at all
is the most extraordinary of things.
For I reside in the neutral
midway between extremes.
I will never feel the splash of eureka
or taste the liquor of pure genius
yet I choose not to wallow
in the doldrums of ignorance’s favour,
still I skirt the rim of desolation
when I feel the hand of normal on my skin
or a very ordinary face staring
back from a perfect reflection.
I see you glide like a butterfly
of heavenly lit hues,
climbing ever higher towards
a divine sense of satisfaction.
I cheer, shout and scream
my support for what I can see,
that which you cannot
and slowly from the chrysalis
a realisation emerges-
you saw my colours
before I learnt to see.
Sometimes
Sometimes love is like a tidal wave, it roars on its approach, it submerges you, knocking you off your feet, tumbles you around till you do not know which way is up.
Sometimes it’s not.
Love can be a whisper of a dragonfly’s breath, as it passes high above your conscious thought, igniting a warmth that creeps slowly, silently with utter intent, it tenderly consumes the very atoms of your being till you feel your heart might burst open, if you cannot reach out and touch the one for whom it was born.
Snowscapes
I recall the flickering screen
my mother moving the aerial
attempting to halt
a trapped snowstorm.
Black and white
our first television set
or at least the first
I could remember.
This snow was forecast
colourful warnings
of amber and red,
though it arrived at night
as a good thief should,
stealing the colours
before daylight arrived
in a monochrome snowscape.
Just as night-time poured
itself into the day’s cup
the careful balance shifted.
Yin and Yang swam inside
their never-ending circle
and chaos floats on top
laughing at us sliding,
shivering and disoriented.
As we walk between the trees
I dream of capturing this magic
in charcoal and chalk,
each branch delicately covered
dusted with frosted icing sugar,
dark trunks and boughs
cut out white paper shapes
with a smudge of a blood-red fox.
© Copyright 2013 Abigail Baker
Icebergs
We do not fall or tumble
slip or stumble
instead we jump and dive
plunge and bomb
or hesitate
dipping the tip of a toe
and wait
watching the ripples flow.
Be the wave
allow yourself to be carried
follow the form
relax into the queue
fall and rise
once more in timely fashion
believe those before,
feel the impending mass
invisible in its darkness
embrace the moment of impact.
© Copyright 2013 Abigail Baker
Preservation
‘Once bitten, twice shy’
One of life’s ironic jokes
or a lesson that takes half
a lifetime to be fully understood.
In self defence, a crime
may be committed.
Protection of property
of life, limb and dignity.
Self preservation
wrapped vacuum tight
stifles both retch and emotions.
Memories buried
absorbing bruises in
a mental pin cushion.
The blow flies rise
buzzing angrily against
such selfish thoughts.
Then settle once more
on the dead dog’s corpse
lying crumpled on its side.
© Copyright 2013 Abigail Baker
