A contemporary poem about the red refuses the blue, using a concrete image system, a pressured turn and a restrained open ending.
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Red arrived carrying its own weather. Blue had already emptied the sky. They met in the doorway and neither moved. Between them, the house learned a new temperature. I waited for purple, the usual compromise. Nothing blended. Some colours survive by keeping their distance.
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A dark free-verse poem about staged emergencies, the need to be needed, and the dangerous intimacy between rescue and control.
A surreal domestic weather poem about inherited damage, damp rooms, and a wall admitting a little sky.
Quiet is not absence but a measurable presence that changes according to distance, attention and care.
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