FOUND POEM: A Sister's Advice

from The Book of Answers by Carol Bolt

Do it early: Be more generous
A year from now it won't matter
Gentle persistance will pay off
Allow yourself to rest first
Startling events may occur as a result
That's out of your control
Listen more carefully; then you will know
Consider it an opportunity

When the earth sleeps

Shorn fields are wrapped

like a bed-ready Grandma,

her head in curlers.

Photo by Kevin Dooley; Poetry by Heather Taylor

The End of Childhood

They sparkled, gold rain through fingers,
chains snaking across our palms, settling
around chubby necks, rings swimming on
stunted digets as mum napped an afternoon
away. In the top drawer, a box rattled,
a delicate jingle, our excitement only forgotten
upon opening, a Pandora's box of milk white
baby teeth breaking tooth fairy beliefs in a moment.

Photo by h.koppdelaney; Poetry by Heather Taylor

Never turn your back

When fighting zombies,
vampires, soul sucking creatures,
the blonde ones never listen
turn around to embrace frat boys,

or the professor, or to tie a shoe,
forgetting the simple horror rules
apply no matter how beautiful
or buxom you are. You are the

red-uniformed starfleet security,
the first to go, last to know,
like our final day together when you
told me her name, said I love you

for the last time.

Photo by ky_olsen; Poetry by Heather Taylor

Sestina: Moving West

It's the first treasured find
that gives you over to love,
a fool that is made to make
that hasty transatlantic move
and create a new life, pierce
through the void however you can

like a "knock-em" 3 stacked can.
Gotta look, gotta see, gotta find
the feeling that finally pierces,
gives your heart over to love
yet you sit there, wait for his move
the one you wanted to make

and still wait to make
as he saunters to his tin can
of a car, signalling his move
the one you were afraid to find.
It's tricky, this thing called love
Tony, Brad, George, Phillip, Pearce

a carousel of names arrows pierce
or pass by, fluttering eyes make
love.
Should you? Can
you give into the find,
another knight to pawn move

that transports, moves
you westward, the sun piercing
eyes with blue, hotter than you'd find
any of the places you make
home. This is the story of can
of finding love

Will you do it my love
will you follow the move
of the motorway, can
you give me a piece of you to pierce,
give way to make
you my only find.

Our agendas met: Find love,
make move,
pierce souls as softly as you can.

Photo by PhillipC; Poetry by Heather Taylor

Coveting thy neighbours life

Curved two seater in polished wood
A sprinkling of apple blossoms
on the path to double french doors,
your shoes and his pair each other.

I see your coffee maker - an italian
holiday souvineur, your blinds half
closed, inviting me to stare,
wishing I was the one you envied.

Photo by EraPhernalia Vintage; Poetry by Heather Taylor

Diner Date

An hour passes to watched clocks
and a third coffee refill
before she stands bound for toilets

and her mom's Mercury in the parking lot.
She weaves through mid-morning diners,
bored waitresses, and sees he's there,

twitching with caffineine and impatience,
a wrong footed first date delayed
by his baseball cap and her nervous eyes,

them missing each others faces
and settling worlds away,
until now.

Photo by David Sifry; Poetry by Heather Taylor