Sunkissed

Sunkissed

An elderly couple, young at heart.
Summer sun kissed, winter sky star gazers.
English field grazers.
Face first with a blue sky,
Amazed as cloud formations align into silent pantomimes.
They cheer on -
“He’s behind you”
without any care
as the pairs of insecure folk stop, whisper and stare.
They’re building a Summer funfair of waltzing fingers rushing in and out of palms,
tummy tickling butterflies spinning round like carousels
and sweet nothings whispered –
sealed with candy floss kisses.
Exposed legs and arms intertwine to form one body.
Eyelids slowly fight a losing battle with gravity,
Growing heavier and heavier.
They fit like two jigsaw pieces
completing a beautiful puzzle
and fall asleep,
unpuzzled.
Nuzzled by a sunshine blanket of heart warming security,
the other folk leave the park in disgust.
Or is it jealousy?

They steal an entire Summer’s day in one split second.

A Man On A Mission (for Faris)

A man on a mission stands
Tall
Proud
His head held high above the clouds
Eyes squint tight in sharp focus
He can now see what lies ahead of him.


A man on a mission walks
Confidently
Determined
Armed with wise words wearing a cheeky tilted grin.
A breeze blown from Heaven gently takes him off his feet.
He is lighter than leaves.


A man on a mission stops
Confused
Alone
A soundtrack to an unanswerable silent tone
The sky closes its eye, opens its belly and roars bright barb wire.
He remembers the Heavens above the war of weathers and where it leads.


A man on a mission ponders
Questions
Lost
A mind map of unsigned road markings and baron grey fields of moss.
Blind compass predictions and a steady beating in his chest.
Stepping stones tip-toed upon with uncertainty.


A man on a mission falls
Hurt
Defeated?
An army of insecurities dance and comrades have retreated.
Sat seated at a crossroads rolling a cigarette.
Nursing his wounds and bandaging bruises.



A man on a mission gets up and marches forth
Older
Stronger
His bare feet blisters can kiss roads for longer.
His calloused knuckles clench a walking stick made from many sticks.
A stitch is undone in his chest and he bleeds pure gold.


A man on a mission breathes
Beauty
White
A rendition of clarity as clear as sunlight.
He dances and sings a hymn like no one’s watching or listening.
And eases himself into a peach of lapping water.


I see you my friend
Look up from your peach, and I shall be smiling through my orange
Of content roads and contended trials.
And once again
We shall both laugh at one another...

As two men from different missions.