TALKING TO THE SAND

 

Lapping foam the only sound.

The sun hasn’t woken

the heat-seekers yet.

I float in white linen.

My small white feet, naked,

sand-buffed silky soft

murmur whispers, our secrets.

 

I sense a presence

and turn.

Tourist - voyeur,

camera zooming,

stealing my image, abashed.

My image, mine, me

in an advert for paradise.

 

I smile.

This will be my memory

at home in the rain.

 

 

 

 

CICADETTA MONTANA

 

They live underground for seven years

before coming out to mate

and sing – I’d sing too!

Don’t they know they’re going to die

in four to six weeks?

 

You can’t see them, but

when you’re young

you can hear the males;

their high pitched shrilling is inaudible

to most over forties.

 

There’s a phone app now to hunt them.

People of a certain age

are roaming around

searching for something they can’t see

and will never find.

From the collection The Light

Welcome!

Take a look at the filmpoem Cover the Mirrors, made for me by the talented Encarna Dorado Cuenca.  It was shortlisted in the FACT & Channels 2015 Filmpoem Competition.  

From the new collection Legacy.