Kissed by Cranberries

Oh … the days
we come off the trees,
filled with whispers of purpose
inwards directed,
tangy and tart solipsisms …
moving to colour the world,
even if we stain it pomegranate
with our dithering.

Forget the mulled wine,
for that was the aged,
spicily remembered.
We wished to be sugared
for thanksgiving,
sweetened up a notch and more,
so they could eat us remorseless,
imagining future hopes in bread and muffin,
everything … so yet to happen …

But wrinkled now
into sweetness itself,
ready for bitter,
to be lost in butter and batter,
all permutations of
floury daydreams;
memoirs of spice,
planning love to chocolate
lend myself to kisses.
Taste me and you will know.







I did this on December prompts by a fellow instagrammer who bakes and writes poetry. I didn’t realise it could be such a fun exercise to work with a limited number of words.

Mulled wine, cranberries, chocolate, spice were some of the prompts. The poem speaks of fresh cranberries that yield the sweet dried ones used in cake, a metaphor for aging perhaps 😉

Fluid, like poetry …

Life seems suffused with dreary interludes, composed prosaically,

but in poems,

it flows like the tannic waters of a brook,

yielding, adapting, singing, swirling,

rounding the rough edges of odd shaped rocks.


This year; sharp, uneven, like jagged rocks,

and my way I learned, was to be liquid like water,

steeped with tannins of leafy experiences

long leached into the liquor distilled of life itself …


We were like a bewildered herd, stupefied with change,

wrought out of disasters brought upon ourselves,

self sabotaging as we are in a strangely cooperative human way

driven through a mutualism of mirrored self interests …

our solipsism evident yet in virtual existence.


And in the midst of the strangeness of circumstance,

we who lusted for worldly ways, found,

that time being money, wasn’t going according to plan.

Yet, where hearts and minds were clear still,

among them dreamers, poets, those charting manifest feeling,

such beings grew boldly amorphous.


Love, kindness, compassion, connection,

abstract nouns then, intransitive verbs now .

Perhaps they sing poems; those who care to see the world in colour,

in hues brightly vibrant, or even shades that may grow duller

Reality feels black or white, when guided not by the light of the sun

For who can see or love a rainbow if they can’t imagine one ……