Category: Twitter Poems

On the West Coast,
on the tail end of a storm,
the ocean pounds the windows
of the motel room,
like thunder, it beats against
the walls and doors
and I pull the bed covers tight
to my sleeping dream.

There is only the sound of the builders
down below to cast a ripple
on the stillness of the tide
creeping past the green bush,
sliding under the yellow sun
to my half-closed eye.

Still the rain does not come
but the tide sweeps up the harbour
between the green bush and brown pasture,
driven on by the sun,
king of the blue sky.

There is a difference between
unravelling and unwinding,
he noted, over a jug of cold beer;
one can be quite messy and untidy,
the other more ordered and relaxed.

Don’t drink the beer too fast,
he said, or it will be gone
and then we will be gone
from this place of sojourn,
good company and jovial
conversation.

And for every grace I have ever known
And for every gift I have received
And for every grave I have found empty
And for every cross I have carried
I offer my own broken hallelujah

And for every tree I have bowed before
And for every ocean I have longed for
And for every road I have wandered down
And for every sun I have welcomed
I offer my two coins of redemption

Enough, enough
the call comes
out of the place
hardly ever accessed,
the deepest place,
private,
where truth
hardly ever speaks.

His eyes draw blood
and ache to close,
to rest and cease from the
strained focus of tracing
blurred words across the page.

All my mistakes
I have undone;
I cannot undo
them anymore