Pamela Blundell

Precious words

Hovering shadows silent and fleeting
searching the fires of glimmering stars
struggles tossed by ancient tumult
lingering spheres illumine
sweet horizons of holy shining space

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Pamela Blundell

I’ve got my eye on you

In his grey-blue R.A.F. uniform he visited our world. Wartime opened homes to soldiers, sailors and airmen, welcomed them to un-rationed food, comfortable beds, smiles from young daughters.

Smiles become glances, glances touches. He leans forward. ‘Can I give you a light?’ The voice is cool. Words resonate with imagined, unimagined purpose. The cicadas sing in the hot, dark garden. Breathlessly, ‘Thankyou,’ her eyes retrieving his through smoke blown from inviting lips.

He bent his head to her ear. They laughed. He touched her cheek. It was too much. ‘Dinner’s ready!’ I called, lying.

I was eleven, my sister twenty-one.

100 Words

Pamela Blundell

Beginning

ancient seas womb of mother earth
overlapping calls of mystic waters
silent amoeba floating free
spawning liquid shapes and sounds

overlapping calls of mystic waters
rolling tides living giving
spawning liquid shapes and sounds
roots and fruits and seeds of songs

rolling tides living giving
ancestral vines beyond the words
roots and fruits and seeds of songs
entangled limbs of all our lives

ancestral vines beyond the words
silent amoeba floating free
entangled limbs of all our lives
ancient seas womb of mother earth