These gums are splinter strewn with pencil shards
from musing on ideas,
chewing the fat,
picking bones from the meat of a thought
until it sits on the page just right
stripped to sinew,
muscles drawn tight
pure power
in a few dangerous words.
Good morning lovely readers. It’s been a while since I wrote a chatty post, hasn’t it? Months, in fact, so with the year coming to an end, I thought I should crack out the virtual ink and let you all know what I’ve been up to. At first glance, I wasn’t sure I’d managed to do that much, but then I delved a bit deeper and it turns out that 2021 was really quite good.
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They were all odd dancers.
Up on their toes,
jittering ballerinas,
twisting in an old wind.
Shifts turned to ragged sails
from long wrecked ships
still trying to take their home.
Spent nights wrapping
their bone fingers tight
into abandoned symbols.
Gathered at last on the hearth,
faces pressed against soot
and ash,
begging
for the strings not to pull
them up again.
Up onto their toes
to dance like strange, dying flames,
guttering the last of their wicks.
This was the house with the old kettle
squatting short and fat on the rayburn,
a singing throat gurgling
to be lifted with care
from the hot plate.
Oil fire constant
within arm’s reach.
Shall we have another cup of tea?
Carol J Forrester 
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