golden gates
cut throat pools, precise
always hazy
reverie and drums
switchblade grass
clear waters, mirrors
sleeve drifts
the sunrise, reflections
losing focus
pouring more wine
sweet rhythms
trees, cherub fountains
soft sight
wondering, dreaming
hoping
summer
A Topless Man
White t-shirt casually flung lightly,
draped over your right shoulder.
Left elbow points towards the sky
as your left hand massages the back of your neck.
I’m a few steps behind, following you,
unintentionally at first but that soon changes.
Catching your sweat on the stifling breeze,
the harsh manly smell of your armpits.
Watching as beads of sweat roll down your back,
hitting your waistband,
some down the top of your crack.
Your body twists checking for traffic,
a flash of your hairy chest and your side profile,
skin rough and shimmering in this heat.
A detour for me, this isn’t the way home,
just to watch the muscles in your shoulders move,
to catch you on the breeze again.
Dixeia
Dixeia lands on palm,
fragments shared
in a pensive ellipse.
Ferris wheel framed,
spinning joy,
in a tree’s gap.
Windy sleeves,
a white mask watches
in a French window.
A bruised side,
a meditation accident
in a Sunday.
2007, Mid-June
Arm and cigarette hang out of the bedroom window,
a half full ash tray sits on the sill with me,
you are on my bed, cross legged and thinking.
Christmas lights are draped over a smeared mirror,
dead soldiers and empty commanders on the shelf,
sixties soul and late night grooves on random,
we’re on fresh coffee and yesterdays wine,
still hungover from the last few nights.
It’s two in the morning and we have writers block,
Pan’s Labyrinth and the profiteroles are waiting.
A Painting
Crawl into the painting,
slip in between strokes,
wrap up in warm colour.
It hangs there waiting,
in a drab sitting room,
dust over its entrance,
broken bottles below.
Beauty in chemicals,
powdered still waves,
an idyllic harbour,
away from the storm.
She stands there silently,
looking out to the seven seas,
water coloured by her charm.
A face that was never painted,
a familiar soul,
with welcoming arms,
beckoning the oceans,
inviting us to escape.
Halcyon Pale
You float,
that is the best way to describe it,
it’s also the worst,
you’re better than that.
Your skin is the palest blue,
you are the envy of the sky.
Clouds won’t touch you,
oceans will mimic you,
lost air who found each other,
an angel between atmosphere and space.
You’ve probably had many names
throughout our history,
clarity can’t compare.
I can’t define you,
never will we.
Halcyon Pale is how I think of you,
but it will never pass my lips.
You are forever.
Arms Aloft Into Scope
A spare room full of dreams and hope,
arms aloft to the submariner’s scope,
funk and New York nightlife join in.
Conversations through a stranger’s window,
enthusiasm, singing and my boy’s smile.
Red wine washes away the nine to five,
sun setting to blue and golden skyline,
holiday magic that money can’t buy.
7 Years Old
“Are you going to come out? It’s OK”,
they ask.
Tears roll down a fat cherubs face,
7 years old,
hiding under a classroom table,
children can be so cruel.
My careers to date:
A Battenberg restaurateur.
Managing director of Jurassic Park.
A mad scientist.
A steam train driver.
Manchester United goalkeeper.
Princess Diana (with a wig improvised out of my school jumper).
Crazed enthusiasm, wild imagination,
anything is possible.
Swimming the oceans in the swimming pool,
hunting for fairies and insects in the corner of the field,
tomorrow I will be Inspector Gadget.
Half An Hour In A Roof Top Garden
Wool dances and strains along the wall it has been sprawled across,
the beach bum yells and expresses over jangling guitars and breeze,
towers flex their might against the winds haste.
On top of the world while under some,
a distance from the back street floor,
something similar is found as the heat continues.
Wisdom has moved from its hiding place onto the wicker sofa,
a movement symbolising emotions made.
Faster now, Keep going!
Embrace and drum your sense and excitement
around glass, wood and maybe flesh!
Yes! Definitely flesh!
That’s It!
Bust through those limitations and pretend!
While nebulas of colour join the world’s top side dance.
Stop,
relax,
it’s out now and moving away from you.
Now breathe in,
and out.
I Am Sea
I know I will one day dry out
but for now I need to be wet,
in the bathroom dunking myself
proving I’m not a witch.
A nautical sense is within me,
calmness found in sea breeze,
solace in gentle ripples,
a boat trip is Ritalin to me.
My enthusiasm is a tidal wave,
I drown people in rushing words,
towering waves of specific vagueness,
sweeping them out on my tide.
It’s a conflict within me,
I can be by it or on the cusp,
but being in water I can’t see
the bottom of terrifies me.
Underwater forests flourish
under old wooden platforms,
the sweet smell of saltwater,
comfort found in the sea.
I.J. Keddie 