You are currently browsing the archives for 6 May 2013.
Displaying 1 - 4 of 4 entries.

A poem from the edge

  • Posted on May 6, 2013 at 10:38 am

Drink Brink

a glass its water still its smooth
round mouth speaks my refreshment
but I see an edge its hard
straight line will take the glass
and in one slight move will break
shards will fall an instant blade
and with it in a warm basin
a water colour red will paint
I know this and its obvious no
debate of alternatives just release
please give me time to slip aside
with this glass this incision in time


2013 © Andie Davidson


Reading this poem can be multi-dimensional. Read across; you know what it is about. Feel it. Now read bits (or all) of it down; then across, or up or at random. This poem reflects the fragmentation of the experience and (as did I) still retains integrity.

Now look for ‘inner’, ‘icy’, ‘fallen’. Ask what is happening to my will? In what sense was I in time?

A and E

  • Posted on May 6, 2013 at 9:51 am

Unnoticeable as the air, as out of sight,
as filling every space,
the in-betweens where nothing goes,
it was there.

The slight touch on the shoulder saying
you’re in this conversation
when all the world is behind you except
the space of yet to know.

The smile, the question, the not-assuming,
that isn’t there at work
or at home, or the checkout where your
worlds slide quietly past.

Wheels, when you might stand, removal
of one effort you know would
stretch these unexpected minutes, hours,
leave breath spare.

There, in the gap between black square plate,
the huge x-ray room and you,
precision arms and tracks, embracing metal
with reassuring smile.

The kneeling, to explain from not-above
accepting understanding,
taking blood, listening for crackles, telling
what to expect.

And not a moment’s go-away, you’re done,
leaving with connection
though each had done just what they do
day and again.

In each look, listen, touch, that which makes us
what we are at best
that connects and makes, affirms—that life
is not just this.


2013 © Andie Davidson

Lying in bed

  • Posted on May 6, 2013 at 9:45 am

All those times I lay back yearning for your mount.
Aching to be taken instead of only drawn to you.

You would take my hand, and place it—which I loved.
I always did the right thing, the right way, always—for you.

But if I took your hand, placed it, was held—it was that I should
take in turn. Not learn, nor just initiate, but teach—and take.


All those times I lay back, just yearning to be taken—
your primal desire to have, to do, to satisfy yourself.

But you could never know. ‘How strange’, you said, ‘to have
dangly bits—I really can’t imagine what it must feel like’—whilst I

I would look at you and know. And I didn’t lie, when I replied
that I knew exactly how it feels to be a woman—and yearning.


One of us was lying, in bed. Loving—but lying and not
realising. Eyes closed. Lying. Longing. Longing to be taken.


2013 © Andie Davidson

Departure lounge

  • Posted on May 6, 2013 at 9:36 am

Silence is a presence in the pressing noise
my ears as unhearing as my eyes can see glass

of impending departure sealing sound
passport, boarding card or ticket, bag

and you, in conversation, never looking back
waiting behind your reflection in the glass.


Goodbyes, those precursors to greetings, yours
elsewhere, captured in silence, heart in flight

in decision than in joy, but its absence
the missing kiss and reassurance, bag in hand

and you, in your other world, spreading wings
waiting, beating, preparing for your flight.


Half-reflections, sun-caught fragments of my dress
glass-printed, unmoving as your body wheels

and anticipation silenced by the glass
in your remembered scent and touch

as you walk and wait, embark and disappear
in the thunder, roar of flight, of lifting wheels.


Bright dots, navigation lights blinking in the sun
silence in the glass as they merge, are gone

my feet
are for walking, ticket to a car park
my journey
a returning, wheels to a home alone

I am fragments of light in silent glass
no longer waiting—reflecting how you’ve gone.


2012 © Andie Davidson