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Poetry
By Vickie Johnstone
Travelling Light
A collection of 44 poems by Vickie Johnstone ©
Copyright © Vickie Johnstone 2011. All rights reserved.
Originally published in 2011. New poems added in July 2012.
Six poems added in June 2014 – These twisted paths we tread, We live in the echoes, Smoke, Under a blood red moon, The fox and the mole and Moon over sand. Some haiku changed.All rights reserved.
Cover illustration: iStockphoto/chuwy.
These twisted paths we tread was written for a poetry competition on the theme of ‘twisted’, organised by author Uvi Poznansky. You can find her beautiful writing here - www.amazon.com/Uvi-Poznansky/e/B006WW4ZFG
I hope you enjoy these poems. Feedback is welcome. My other books and links are listed on the last page.
Dedication
For everyone who loves to write, draw, paint, dance, sing (I wish I could) or just create something. This book contains some of my poems; some rhyme, some don’t, some are long and some are short. I write them quickly in about five or ten minutes, and sometimes go back to tweak them. They are not about me, but filled with imaginary characters and places. Some of the poems in this book also appear on my blog, where I post my writing, among other things – https://vickiejohnstone.blogspot.com
Thank you!
Books by the author
3 Heads & a Tail
The Sea Inside (Cerulean Songs, book 1)
I Dream of Zombies (book 1)
Haven (I Dream of Zombies, book 2)
The Kiwi Series
Kiwi in Cat City (book 1)
Kiwi and the Missing Magic (book 2)
Kiwi and the Living Nightmare (book 3)
Kiwi and the Serpent of the Isle (book 4)
Kiwi in the Realm of Ra (book 5)
Kiwi’s Christmas Tail (book 6)
Smarts & Dewdrop Mysteries
Day of the Living Pizza (book 1)
Day of the Pesky Shadow (book 2)
Poetry
Kaleidoscope
Life’s Rhythms
Travelling Light
Mind-spinning Rainbows
Others
The Gage Project charitable children’s anthology, published by Inknbeans Press
A Very Christmas Zombie anthology, published by ATZ
Contents
Rain
8 Haiku
We live in the echoes
Dreamers
Shine
These twisted paths we tread
Flight
Slam
Under a blood red moon
Hey little girl
The writer
Moon over sand
Mother
Smoke
Farewell
The fox and the mole
Smile
Hope
Footsteps in the rain
Sigh
Blow
Little boy leaps
Gossamer
Heading my way?
November
Lost and found
Nightmares
Sea shells
Horror
Faith
The pack
Play
Moving on
Two
The swans
Strings
Diving
About the author
Rain
(from Kaleidoscope)
She sits and dreams of making rain
In the dark, shadows dancing mimic
Colours of the aghast
Sights and sounds, murmurs
Still breathing
Watching over the edge
Of everything
The glass splinters into a million shapes
Cast in a myriad lights
Bright and sparkling, dancing
In the spring sun
Here, she dreams of making rain
It tears and crashes
Washing away the shards of glass
Splattering the colours rent
With droplets of ice-cold nothing
Cuts and caresses
Spikes of grass peeking through
Clouds gathering
Dust
8 Haiku
(From Life’s Rhythms)
Bend in the river
Where the sharpest roses grow
Shelter my repose
Eyes turn to the sun,
River of blue-black shimmers
On peacock feathers
Brown dog woofs, chasing
Giddy circles without sense
His tail evades him
Plunging from the sky
Trickling over every leaf
The rain smells green
She wakes with the morn,
Daisies woven in her hair;
So sprightly she laughs
Raspberries blood-red
Ripe, soft and so succulent
Chilled ice-cream slithers
Some distant day she’ll
Return when she sees beauty
In a rainbow sing
Leaves hurtle, twisting,
Dropping without an echo –
Curved, their hands open
We live in the echoes
We step inside mirrors
Lemon petals pave the way
I sleep in stages, sleep sublime
Walking pages never read again
I see the signs yet still forget
Imagining faces of the past
A rush of bliss splits the breeze
Where the peacemaker wanders
The crevices of the closed mind
He offers echoes of your stare
We live in the echoes
Patterns drawn upon a wall
Plunging ripples capture all
The raw beauty of the real
Where the Fool laughs his last
Is a time we’ll never see
For he plays so beautifully
Daring to step beyond himself
Embracing all there is to see
With such wide open arms
Dreamers
She lives among the dragons, stars and unicorns
The fairytale world born in her wildest dreams
Of childhood wandering on the darkest nights
Beneath the chill of the star-speckled moon
In the dark the dragons shine their fiery red
In the light the unicorn bows its silvery head
She dreams the dreams she yearns to live
Ascending the high, jagged mountain reaches
Descending the bleakest, deepest chasms
She rides the unicorn, outpacing green forests
Dead set distancing the thickset woods, screams
The day, the light, the shake of morning dew
Lifted on breezes the silent wails of the dreamer
Spinning on tiptoes across the surface of a lake
Never crack the mirrors in this lingering escape
Take the dreamer in one hand, bend to fate
Where she dances in a stream of starlit skies
Never wandering from the bending, stony path
In the dark the dragons shine their fiery red
In the light the unicorn bows its silvery head
Darkest eyes penetrate the watching innocence
Of the dreamer floating through the skies
Never falling, always flying, asleep, suspended
Travelling in this mystic world so shimmering
Shine
She makes music
In the silence
Feels it shine
In the still
Wakes the muse
In the night
Wanders free
The pseudonym
These twisted paths we tread
She slides between these walls
one foot, two feet, a hand and two
this is the space in which she lives
breathes, empties all that she is
she knows, where the eye seeks to spy
through circles drilled into the walls
the hidden, they watch, scratching idly
starving for love, the thing she lost
the ones she forgot were left behind
they hide now like ghosts in the leaves
rustling they leap upon the breeze
echoes of the past haunting mirrors
the scribe knows, he laughs sometimes
knowing all the things he does
it only makes him fail, too self-absorbed
to comprehend what she really is
the ghosts they circle inside these walls
pushing their fingers through the paper
seeking to caress the curls of her hair
twisting, she knows they linger
inside, watching where the beetle runs
trailing all his miniscule unlived lives
between the pages of a book unseen
she lived it, breathed it, all that ripples
thus she dances here alone, casting
rainbow dust upon the bleakest grey
the steel that rusts in crusts of red
rosebud offerings to the elements
laughter so raw covers an ache so deep
like a monster it yearns to spring
inside, where the waiting ends
inside, where the spiral grows
there’s a twist in the passage that eels
a malevolent darkness screams
opening the chasm that yawns awake
stealing tomorrow for its own sake
it twists, but nothing can touch her,
lost as she is in the echoes of her past
Flight
In the summer of these times
Green fields bloom, yellow climes
Hear the cry of circling birds
Low bellow of passing herds
In the mellow morning dew
Bluest echoes, faintest hue
Pink waves streak over the sky
Upwards, the flamingoes fly
Slam
(From Kaleidoscope)
A door slams
Out into the night
Faint heart
Travelling free as a bird
Travelling light
Open roads
Pale blue skies await
Distant tracks
They beckon me
Bumping along old roads
Staring back
Staring far
So many signs
For so many places
Unseen
Lives unlived
Wait around the corner
I bide my time
There’s no hurry
There’s really no need
So I wait
Gazing out of windows
Distancing the past
Meeting new faces
Measuring glances
Open roads
Upon this red-dusted earth
And nothing is
As nothing was
Knowing everything changes
No-one stops to pause
Wondering in the midst of
Choices denied
And chances missed
Painted canvases I visit
Now I’m not chained
To any one place
Travelling free as a bird
I measure my life in two suitcases
Under a blood red moon
Layer upon layer of silken swirls
They slide like tiny white spider webs,
Shifting like lace, delicate but wild;
Fingers spreading, gripping the shore
Seeking to touch my sinking toes
Here in the dark where silence reigns;
Cotton wool balls of rolling surf
Drive, heaving the sand into piles.
Something glistens beneath the rush
Of these chill waves, plunging near;
The eye of the sombre sea beckons,
Its breath eerily warm in its iciness,
Scooping, dipping, surging forth.
A blood red moon hangs in the sky,
Watching, whispering to the waves
Breaking in the roar of this embrace.
Hugging the shore, it searches wide
For its silent partner on the beach –
I, standing on the edge, alone.
My shadow enters the waves,
My second self lost in the surf;
It reawakens the life of the sea
Ebbs and flows returning without me,
Leaving but a kiss upon the sand.
Written on a beach at Cromer in 2013. The stars sparkled and the moon was red, so I had to get it down on paper.
Hey little girl
(from Kaleidoscope)
Hey, little girl,
Where are you going?
Before you fade
Into the dark
Wander into this yellow light;
Flick your hair,
Jump into the sea,
Take a running leap of sheer faith.
Cut the surf at a run,
Feeling its cold cascade
Fall into the depths of the sea.
Kindle your spark,
Keep shining
In the heat of the sun;
Summer daze,
Trivial gaze,
Lazy haze –
Stay a while and turn your head.
Keep smiling
Before it fades
With the waves,
Trickling into the shapes
Of lost feet in the sand.
The writer
He carried stories
Woven in the dark –
Still, uncoordinated
Patterns of light.
Sounds that moved
As lithe figures,
Danced into shapes
Reflecting back
His own sounds.
Fond of feeling,
They moved swiftly
As though in a play,
These figures
He had never met.
Loose limbed,
Ever being,
They wandered free
Across his pages,
Untamed and wild.
He cherished them,
Watched them grow
Into their colours;
Watched them live
To hate and feel
And hope, and so
He set them free.
Moon over sand
Electric pink mists streak the blue
like pastels rubbed by unseen hands;
dolphins leap in this cerulean escape,
their curved grey backs gleaming,
shattering the still image of the moon
rising beyond where eagles fly,
stretching up, reaching to the limits,
reflected in these once still waters.
The silvery glow of the restless moon
touches the tall peaks of a castle of old,
hidden by green ivy creeping its walls,
majestic in its beauty yet foreboding.
the dark windows yawn open, awaiting
any strangers who walk these shores.
a thin skit of pale wet sand invites,
carpeting where a drawbridge once hid.
These ruins waste alone; no one comes
save for the ghosts who glide by night,
searching for the souls of lovers past
until the warming hum of the waking morn.
tiny birds dive amid these rotting turrets
while spiders scurry between the floors,
where once a fine
young princess dwelled
unravelling her hair to the sands below.
Mother
Mother, I called in the summer,
Remembering a picture past –
You were dressed in red,
Hair glistening in the sun
You laughed so easily then,
You felt no passing of time
I twisted and pulled that day,
Wriggling to play in the sea,
But you held on tightly;
You wouldn’t let me go
Warm hands protected me
Against the wild elements
Today, I remember that summer,
How the sun shone so bright,
The seagulls whooped and screamed
In their crazy delight
I wanted so much to swim,
To leave you and play;
You wrestled my independence,
Urged me just to stay
Now I live so far, far away
In a city built for strangers
I work in a grey building,
Dressed in a greyer suit –
Even my skin feels grey beneath,
Moving in streets swimming with figures
Speed is of the essence here,
Substance long cast adrift
As I sit here, memories flood,
Seeing you in this photograph;
That bright red dress daring me
To pick up the phone and say hello
Mother, I’m remembering you
Pulling this struggling little boy
So he’d stay just a minute more
With you.
Smoke
So it glides, chasing circles,
Twisting between the tables.
A man’s hand reaches for it,
Flicking ash into a glass bowl;
Breathing it, devouring it,
Sucking it in and blowing it out;
It yields, twisting, turning,
Darting to and fro in the air.
He recalls a solitary wandering
Lit only by the memory of her,
This pale, faint slip of a girl
Running with dark hair flying,
Her sharp heels clipping stone,
Skirt wrapping itself, closing in
Tightly around her taut waist
Where his arms yearn to be.
It carves itself anew each time
This blissful memory recorded,
Becoming ever sweeter still
As he dreams the unfulfilled.
He breathes in the scent of her,
Imagining where she ran to
Yesterday in the wet tumult
Surging down in a crystal rush.
He sucks in the woody smoke
Blowing it out in a ring of white
That seems fruitless to bubble
As it breaks and fades to nothing.
She dances here on the tabletop
Where he flicks the greying ash,
Singing of life – a glimpse of light;
The reminiscence makes him smile.
Turning the packet in his hand
He taps it evenly against the wood
To a distant rhythm in his mind
In striking contrast to the blues
Humming from this old jukebox.
The cigarette shrinks to naught,
Burns his fingers until he drops it,
Squishing it flat in the curving bowl.
Getting up slowly, he reaches over
To the sturdy stick always with him.
The Labrador rises, brushing his legs,
Inviting his hands to stroke his fur.
“Attaboy,” he murmurs, smiling,
Knowing that time has come again.
Stumbling forwards, he trails his dog
To the furthest end of the noisy pub.
Out into the cool air and the dark day,
He clicks the stick along the street
And in his mind’s eye she runs ahead,
Her skirt blowing up to her knees
While he rushes forth to catch her,
To sweep her up in his open arms,
Her raven hair flying in the breeze,
Twisting like smoke, wild and free.
Farewell
In the seconds woven
In the morning dew
The light reflected
A myriad signs
In the seconds chosen
In the evening dew
The dark reflected
A myriad lines
I find my way
In the dark of day,
Still standing true
Remember you
I find this day
Stands in the way
Of finding you
Beneath the blue
The fox and the mole
(from Kaleidoscope)
“Let’s rob a bank,”
Said the fox to the mole.
“I’ve got mouths to feed
And I’m feeling the need.”
“Okay,” said the mole,
“But you know I can’t see;
I can burrow real deep
Though I might fall asleep.”
“Well,” said the fox,
“I can offer my cunning;
I will find a way inside
And to you I’ll confide.”
“Wake me up,” said the mole,
“When you discover this,
Because I’ve got a hunch
We’re in a credit crunch.”
So the fox went off thinking
How to rob the posh bank
And came up with a plan
While eating a cherry flan.
“Well then,” asked the mole,
“What do you suggest we do
To steal all this money
But not do anything funny?”
“Aha,” said the fox, grinning,
“I’ll tell you what to do –
Just burrow under the bank
While I drive up in a tank!”
“Oh,” said the mole, frowning,
“I’d never have thought of that.
I didn’t know foxes could drive –
Have you told this to your wife?”
“No, we must keep this secret,”
Said the fox to the mole,
“As she’ll have my guts for garters
And that’s just for