poems read

One certain facet
of this island hopping
is the slipstreamy tail
of each ferry
while we lick salt
from our lips,
alter our speech
to receive brine
on our tongues,
note that when a boat
fractures water
there’s a place
where sea is not blue.

Only if we hold ourselves
still in the swell
and spray
of each journey
can we know
if language lies to us,
if candour is buried
on the ocean floor,
if the bony skulls
of whales and dolphins
conceal certainties,
if truth is written
and rewritten
on each tide.

More at http://mariemacsweeney.com.

My moments of solitude are anything but quiet,
there are far too many distractions,
noisily and colourfully waiting
just around the corner from the normal, grey world.
Nowadays I’m as selective as I can be about
which image footprints I let wander through my mind
…it all becomes part (Like it or not!) of the overall collage.
I can bend an hour into three
like a silversmith with soft moonlight.
Boredom when not impatience
is mostly reserved for teenagers and unhappy people.
The train of thought is an experience as well as a journey
and as wonderful as books and movies are,
they are still only beautiful snapshots
of the unchartered magic forever waiting to be explored
…I’ll see you in there, catch me if you can?

More at http://paultristram.blogspot.co.uk/.