At Sea

I juggle with words but
They fall through my fingers
Like grains of sand.
It’s the beauty of the ocean
Before me, zapping any thoughts
That floate to the surface.

I sit, unmoving.
The only thing still in this storm of elements.
The tide playfully tickles my feet,
Drifting in and out of my toes.
I could be a rock -
Slowly being eroded
Until my hard skin is washed to the sea leaving
A softer, untouched shell.

I sit, in awe of the strong, lively waves
That tempt my toes to dance their way to the horizon.
I would be like a ballerina from Swan Lake,
Gracefully poised on tip toes
With hands joined as in prayer.
At home on the wave when
It arches my back to envelope me
So that I collapse, a rag doll.
Blown by the wind and thrown by the waves,
Unable to breathe and,
Like my words,
Unable to reach the surface.

Finally then, I would be at home on the wave -
Never to return to land.

A good quote

"Our lives begin to end the day we become silent about things that matter" - Martin Luther King

Gold

Gold is a british one pound coin.
Gold is a medal that means
You’re the best.
Gold is the butter croissant melting in the mouth
On a Saturday morning.
It's hugging, and squeezing,
But it never being enough.
It’s sitting in your corner of the world
Between your four walls
And not caring what’s on them -
Or maybe it is caring.
It's having time to think -
To really think.
It’s your eyes fighting to close
And seeing darkness.
It’s standing still in one place
And being perfectly happy with where you are.
It’s the colour of the butterflies that flutter
In the pit of your stomach.
It is the soft, squidgy wetness that’s in
A colour that’s bright yellow and called gold.

Carpe Diem

When I wake up the day is mine.
I can do anything,
But I have cereal and go to work.

The sun falls and darkness prevails
Until the day no longer belongs to me.
It now belongs to tomorrow, and to yesterday.

I save for some day.
But as the days roll into each other
The way drops of water make the sea,
I wonder if that day will ever come
And how will I know when it has.

I hope that my savings, my hopes and dreams
Don’t become like a Famous Five book
That sits in a drawer with moth holes in its pages,
Waiting to see the light of day.

A non-practicing catholic,
I pray that I can learn how to
Seize the day.

These Four Walls

I got off a boat and they
Brought me here for
A new life, a better life.

Prisoner of war.
That’s my name. I am defined by first being kept within these four walls
And second by the war that tore
My mother apart, my sister apart.
That tore my father apart.

Asylum seeker.
That’s me. Seeking asylum
In this island that covers me like a fishing net.
I don’t want to be here.
There is no goodness here,
For me, under this net that doesn’t let me breathe.
In this place with alien names and alien people
And alien, horrible food.

A new life, a better life.
Between these four walls.
These unpainted, rotting walls with mould growing all over them.

I stop listening. What is the point in listening?
I stop reading. What is the point in reading?
I stop watching the screen with moving images
That upset me.

What’s the point?