salt

i bought salt

so i would taste of the sea.

every time i lick my lips

i will remember the ripple of your kiss.

 

salt

in the food i make for you

in the tears i cry for you

from the tumbling sea to my hair

in the kisses i give you.

 

i bought

honey and salt, to kiss you with.

from the heather and the tide, the moors and the waves

from my lips to yours.

 

 

Natty

via Daily Prompt: Natty

 

This is a song I wrote.

 

Brother

Stumbling out, his feet sink into the snow

Tumbles over, he’s got plenty of time to grow

At four years old, he is golden and bright as the day

The morning’s young and he’s got hours to play

His world is small and the sea is shallow and safe

His daddy’s home, hear; he’s whistling down the lane

The day is done and the sun sets the sky on fire

Tonight, the minds of men are peaceful and kind

Oh, brother, you, you

Glory child

You, you

Rise up with a shout

You

Tear it all down

You

Concrete kings climb the trees when leaves turn brown

Spend all winter in the boughs and we’ll never come down

Till our mums call our names and we’ll run in for tea

Stay awake all night, until we fall asleep

We are brave with cider- steps

We are brave with two swinging fists

We are brave with street corner kisses

We are brave when our stone misses

Oh, brother, you, you

Glory child

You, you

Rise up with a shout

You

Tear it all down

You

The wood quickly buries what the sky gave it

The light returns to the earth so we will play in darkness

The wood quickly buries what the sky gave it

The light returns to the earth so we will play in darkness

We are brave in dreams of summer

Oh, brother, you, you

Glory child

You, you

Rise up with a shout

You

Tear it all down

You

A mind of soft things

Give me again

a gentle brown eye

and a mind of soft things

 

solemnity,

a grave purity

 

Joy sloshed around in his boots

(he left it twinkling on the garden path like a slug- trail in April)

It glistened in his whistle

on his books

his pen

glasses.

 

Joy was also in the cotton sun

spilt by Morning

when she tip- toed in

to peer

over his shoulder and watch his fingers.

 

Joy did not often send him giddy

but sometimes it would leap inside him

like a trout and he would do the tea-towel jig

and dance with me on his feet

 

Give me again