Oneironaut

(An explorer of dreamscapes)

The sepia tones
of a treasure map at first.
But then I miss your blue eyes
so I turn the colour on.

Your hair is blonde again
and shined heavy with carats
by the harvest moon
of our first walk in the woods.

You take my hand
to draw faces in the stars
before the clouds put them out.
Like a conjuror

I try to wave them away
but that only makes it rain,
giving the oak a voice
that calls you home.

I wake up to the tangle
of you under my arm.
I open my eyes
to an empty bed.

17th June 2013

on dog-walkers in redhouse park

they meet like spies
passing secrets
in the lamplight

as the spaniel
snouts the pinscher
for the news –

"nice night for it"
one says in greeting
like a tuning fork

for their small talk
of the offside rule
May's plans for Brexit

and the build quality
of their upmarket hamlet
when the spaniel

takes the sumo pose
and the pinscher
is dragged away

a slight nod
between the owners
as they part

like a silent salute
to all the little victories
that brought them here

macie

she sleeps
soundless and still
little more than an armful
blooming from a blanket

a full head of fine gold
making a pillow
of auntie Catherine
as evening dawns
on this last summer's day –

it's hard to imagine
anyone could be so safe
and warm and loved
and yet