Poetry

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Flash photo

The night rains fall, stabbing my fields

as they sleep. Lightning sears the sky.

I stand, blessed or cursed, counting one,

two, three.. waiting for the all clear clap of

thunder. I counted only two this time;

the storm is moving ever nearer. I pray

for clemency, but the gods are otherwise engaged,

practising the art of flash photography.

First published in Words with Jam

Art Gallery

The staircase spiralled around her

like a magnified strand of DNA.

Trapped between floors –

Impressionist and Post-Modern –

she resisted the lure, the marble entrance hall

where people mingled

with the possibility of her free fall.

Behind her the crowd is pushing –

you can do this, pulses in her ears,

and then slowly, one foot in front of the other,

she conquers the fearful fear.

First published in allaboutthegirl

Front line

My skin lies next to your skin

on face, arms, breasts, legs,

painting me a picture,

an unseen, charcoal sketch.

A still life we sleep to dawn,

when morning’s cannons roar.

You stir. I wake

and my skin clings to your skin,

smooth and glib with sweat.

The soldier on the frontline,

skin tells me when you’ve left.

First published in The Long Short Story

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