The traveller.

I wonder where it is you’re going now?

Do you fly to the sun, or seek the cold?

You’ve learned to carry your own roots around

in your backpack, that one with the rainbow –

it’s fading now. That pack is growing old. 

I’ve watched you fill it up, packing it tight

with clothes and books and boots and things you might

need one day. Empty, then fill it again,

because you want to, but can’t travel light.

Those heavy roots will not be cut. Your pain. 

This is for two dVerse prompts – it’s dizain month, and I’ve used the theme of movement from Amaya’s Tuesday prompt.

Going somewhere – poem for dVerse

All those cheap metaphors –
the road, the river

the road as if we’re heading somewhere burning fuel
not just circling spiralling burning time, but look –
we have direction
map
compass
purpose

the river as if we’ll reach carried thoughtless
some open ocean see the sunlight on the water
wide armed
welcoming
rough waved
forbidding

and yet we circle round the stone steps up and down

whirlpool
vortex
beckoning

waiting to dissolve us
in its swirling waters

fingerprint swirl thumbprint on the clouds
in the great sea

and all the while
we are spinning
circling
spiralling
out and away

seductive entropy

Amaya is hosting at dVerse tonight, and we are looking at movement – our own movements, population movements, wherever the prompt takes us.

Haibun Monday – “Too many mine”

I hold myself as carefully as a glass of wine, each angle carved from the air, each movement crafted in bone, in flesh, in skin; my breath a liquid weight in my chest; my mind entangled by my own movement. I find my way through the air, I pin myself to the ground, I hold myself here.

Control of breathing
The slow sliding movement of
Muscle under skin