This page contains a few of my published poems, some of which are quite a few years old now. As they are works of creativity, they are not necessarily reflective of my personal feelings or opinions; some are responses to stimuli, whilst others are just my thoughts in poetic form.
A couple more are awaiting publication, so I’ll update the page as soon as I’m allowed to; I don’t want to breach any copyright laws!
Sleep as the fireflies glow hot,
Dream of Indian silks, of opulent silks,
The snake-like spirit of the East.
Touch the exotic, bite it.
Savour the juices with their bittersweet aftertaste.
And listen, listen, to the sound of your heart,
Rhythmic, regular, like the sound of her calloused feet,
Thumping for miles along the harsh, brown earth.
Dream of that distant paradise,
The Indian summers and opulent silks,
The snake-like spirit that lives in your soul.
And listen, listen, to the sound of her cries.
In this thesaurus of loss,
L has abandoned ‘lover’
to create a synonym for ‘at an end’.
I leave the book open at this page,
hoping you’ll notice the word
I’ve circled furiously
over and over
and over again.
In the cupped palm of your hand,
your love line creases into a smile
that’s not for me.
An omen in itself,
and still my tulip buds
in extravagant yearning,
straining for the sun,
Over my shoulder, apple peel
curves into an initial that can
never begin to spell your name.
but still I sense
its implicit meaning,
Inside of me, a flower
defies nature, inverts itself,
A loss within myself.
And the peel writhes
into a curious ball of misery,
widowed of a name,
At first sight, tight buds
of your flower-strewn curls
unfurl themselves sensually,
inviting me into your boudoir
of petalled skies, where passion
will soar from our eyes;
Red is for romance.
On this night, sirens blare
in the underworld of your hair;
a prelude to the uncoiling
of serpents in your mind,
which slither into the curve
of hanging question marks;
to live or to die?
Red is for danger.
In this light, blood spills
from the wound of your scalp,
cascading your humanity
Like a river of mortality;
the currents of a life
Red is for pain.
Lost Property Collection Point
Entering Heaven, she found that it was not quite to her taste. The décor was divine – who could fault the silky-rich fabric of the sky, the reams of honey golden ribbon that cascaded through the valleys, wrapping the place up: a gift? But good God, where were the Margheritas? And who had stolen her Jimmy Choos?
Barefoot, she left the others bleating on about some guy called Jesus; silently padded along, looking out for the signs: Customer Services, Lost Property Collection Point. And that’s when she saw him emanating light beneath the boughs of a gnarled tree: the face of an angel.
If her eyes could have spoken one word, it would have been this: falling. He responded effortlessly, his nine-carat smile offering: I’ll save you. Did she want him to show her the way? Of course. Her feet were beginning to smell. So, Choo-less, he guided her, his clean feet speaking a path she had never heard before.
Hope you found something in them that you appreciated or enjoyed.Thanking you for reading! Kate xxx