She wanders

My muse is shy
reluctant to give of her secrets
she cowers in dark places
smothered in the ink of night and mysteries

Her fingers crushed
her skin cut and sliced
her eyes plucked out
her tongue has been tied
so tight
it turned blue
and black
as obsidian

She wanders now
in circles
watching
waiting

Hovering on the caught breath
open mouthed
slight tilt of head 
dissecting the angle of time

Her words stolen
by a thief
open blasted
a coal mine for dust
seared and scarred
she drifts in darkness

Now
waiting
watching

For a glimmer 

Then with swift and deft touch
weaves her trailing hair
slips a golden thread
between words
as if they did not belong to her

Always

Claire Bridge © 2019

Spring


Like a pearl
a flower
petals unfurl
delicate 
unbruised
to the touch
opening
to the sun
radiant
golden wattle shower
flame tree
plum blossom fragrance
magnolia glory
daphne sweetness on my tongue
saturated


Claire Bridge © September 2018


Words are spells

there are poems 
where love is 
cast

like a fishing line
hovering in anticipation 

mine are
waiting for your mouth

a heart tucked
inside each syllable sound
for you to wrap around 

Claire Bridge © February 2019