Severn Bridge

so this is where it all changes
where salt water turns to fresh
balanced between two worlds
adrift on the flooding tide
holding on to a raft of indecisions
to go back or move on?
and wondering how it must feel
jumping from a tall bridge
hitting hard water

they say it’s the fall that kills
not the drowning

like that funny feeling as a child
standing on a cliff in Cornwall
feeling pulled towards the edge
father grabbed me and shouted
how could you be so stupid girl?
the family holidays, the yellow dress
sunny summers all in the past now
a tangled overgrown mess
oblique and rewinding

it should never have ended here
we were meant to drive into the sunset

PicMonkey Collage

(bridges and cliffs are notorious suicide spots)

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our ancestral sunrise

golden rays of sunlight fill our eyes
every newborn sunrise from the dawn of time
captured in the blinking flick of a lens
time immemorial.     shuttershocked.
a video framed evolutionary existence
encapsulated in this blood beat gaze
primordial.     prehistorized.     passing.

a journey back and a glance forward
every stillborn sunrise from the dawn of time
eroded by the wash of infant tears
blushed naked fear.     photosnapped.
a moving mastery of previous lives
ancestors suspended in a torsioned vacuum
floating.     familiar.     future famished.

place your hand in mine and feel the warmth
every burning sunrise from the dawn of time
branded in the dna of chromosomed memories
double helixed.     magnetic resonanced.
an x-rayed nuclearoid double vision
twisted on a tendon thread of apprehension
spectre sacrificed.     ghostly galleried.

we move onward each day never knowing why
every clouded sunrise from the dawn of time
masked in the blinded misunderstandings of man
war torn.      bastard birthed.     heartbroken.
what lies beyond our sunlit eyes?
what golden rays fill our brilliant minds?
eternally everlasting.     understanding nothing.

ancestral sunrise

(sometimes I wake up with a line in my head repeating over and over and then another and another and I have no idea where each line will take me but I have to jump out of bed and crank up the lappy and take the journey if only to find out where and why and whatever. It doesn’t matter that it makes no sense at all or will never change the world one iota or even be widely read. A friend recently told me: appreciate what you do with this mangled stepchild we all dub poetry. Ha! I love his words and mind and inspired whackery. My cursor arrowed finger hovers over the publish button afraid to let this one go. Click. Gone. Published:)