Turned you wild

August 6, 2019

It had stopped snowing. Both of us were a little stir crazy, if you remember. So we went outside, and then it was as if the fresh, frigid morning air turned you wild –

‘I’m going to swim,’ you called.

‘You’ll freeze,’ I replied.

But you threw off clothes like an unruly child and leapt without hesitation in to the water. Splashed and squealed and went under. Then rose again laughing, like some primeval creature, half-water, half-ice, from a time before time.

I stood on the snowy bank watching your antics, a partly-aroused voyeur. I’ll never forget, when you scrambled out, the sight of your glistening back and your beautiful bottom…

i will wade out

June 22, 2019

i will wade out
till my thighs are steeped in burning flowers
I will take the sun in my mouth
and leap into the ripe air
with closed eyes
to dash against darkness
in the sleeping curves of my body
Shall enter fingers of smooth mastery
with chasteness of sea-girls
Will i complete the mystery
of my flesh
I will rise
After a thousand years
And set my teeth in the silver of the moon

e. e. cummings

Half Roundel

November 1, 2018

Now is November;
In night uneasy
Nothing I say.
I make no prayer.
Save us from water
That washes us away.

W. S. Merwin

Mississippi Drowning

October 16, 2018

Bring your ear to the water
and I’ll sing you
down into my arms.
Let me show you how
to make your lungs
a home for minnows, how
to let them flicker
like silver
in and out of your mouth
like last words,
like air.

Saeed Jones

The Well at Mylor

May 6, 2018

At Mylor
the water of the well

bears the armour of the light,
it hides and escapes

and stays still
under its hood of rock

amid a galore of graves
and green leaves,

spring of fresh water
beside the sea,

a find, a treasure,
a pedigree,

no idyll
but the essential source,

now retired
from its work of sole sustenance,

living among memories
of former fame,

a saint’s hand dipping in
like a taper unquenched,

coins splashing down
for reverence, not luck,

from time to time,
a self-baptism,

secret and quick,
for some

prefer their ritual
out of doors,

water understands this,
and loves the brow

fanned with its body
for reasons the water easily guesses,

for it is the one who blesses,

freely it runs
its long unceremonious

through my fingers,

and on my lips
tastes ferriferous,

blood-hint at the periphery,
pell-mell mint at the heart.

Penelope Shuttle

Day Closes

March 17, 2018

Across the lake
wind ripples
choppy waves
like goose bumps
thrilling over
my skin.
On shore
ducks flap wings
in a feathery applause.
Aspen leaves giggle,
like children
supposed to be asleep,
and a cricket chirps
the sunset
into basic black
trailing like a whiff
of lilac before closure.

Diane Webster

Every Home Should Have One

December 9, 2016



Saturday Morning Shenanigans

December 5, 2015




May 31, 2015


Is there a lake where all forgotten things
Are washed by time, to float and sink like leaves?
What silent underwater cave receives
The days that we forget, that no-one grieves,
The lives long done, the songs that no-one sings?

Perhaps it’s so. But drops remain, and cling
To spiderwebs and twigs, to grass and roses.
Around a moment each drop gently closes –
One day, one face, one love – and each composes
One small prism, sunlit, glittering

Emily Burns