Enter Home Planet News Poetry of Issue #4                        Page 40
Table of

“Inside Out Pockets”

She’s not looking for anything in particular
Except for the bits and pieces stuffed inside pockets
Tight little paper balls
That don’t rattle or roll
Forgotten inside the blackness of a mini universe

Home amid the chinking pennies
Dust settles over famous faces
Immortalised inside pockets
Places of darkness

These darkened spaces exist inside her mind
Amongst speckled shades of grey
Dust gathering dwellers
The faces from her past

Dust everywhere
Covering everything
Particles that cling to memories
Faces from bygones
Veined and grey

In his pocket
The queen’s face
Bubble gum wrappers
Paper clip
The strand of hair

Her hair smelt of lavender and roses
He took it when her back was turned
As she observed the dust outside
Falling from birds wings
From outside the paint chipped window

She always looked closely
Saw the light covering of dust over the city
Glistening specks tumbling under street lights
Proof that angels float amongst us

She’s not looking for anything in particular
Except for worlds inside pockets

Every night when the dust settles
She turns her pockets inside out

  © Rosi Pineiro

“Vacuum Packed”

I stand still
Trapped inside the illusion that everything becomes as still as I

Things felt like this
Way back when I became the smallest I could become
I played the game of ‘Statues’ well
It’s easy not to move
To become quiet and still

No longer was I there
I hid with the unseen and unheard
Blending into nothingness

The place of nothingness exists
Suspended above the strife
You enter with nought
Into a vacuum

I could see my toys below
They always stayed behind
I missed them so

Here I floated remembering
An embryonic beginning
Always we go back to the beginning
When life threatens to overwhelm us

Sometimes I rock myself asleep
Swing on a swing
Soothing a frazzled nervous system

I perceive that the place of nothingness
Became everything
Vacuum packed
All the bits and pieces stayed in place
Dormant like the little child within

I wobbled for the longest time
Before the vacuum spat me out
Bits and pieces strewn across the galaxies

I catch fragments
Counting them before they settle inside me
I’m not sure how many I need
To make a total one of me

I keep collecting
Swinging on swings
Rocking myself to sleep

Someday soon I’ll catch a butterfly
It will have resplendent emerald wings
And dance upon the palm of my outstretched hand
Leaving joy imprinted into my skin

Vacuum packed I may have been
But beautiful things come from the vacuum
I know for I had to leave them there

  © Rosi Pineiro

“Birds don’t fall from the Wire”

Birds find balance on the wire
Somewhat precariously to the untrained eye
Alluding to a certain frailty

Like a heart that bleeds
When a lover’s goodbye leaves a trail of heartache
Amid the forget-me-nots blowing in the wind

The birds
As they traverse the length of the wire
Prompt us to find the balance point
After a period of strife

The wind will gather up the layered dust
Uncovering forgotten hearts
Out of place in neglected corners

Some hearts lie in fields of forget-me-nots
Recalling their innocence
Before life taught harsh lessons
In endless cycles of continuity
Heartbeats and clock ticks

Across town
A leather-faced flower vendor sells a love struck youth
A sprig of forget-me-nots for his sweetheart

Her heart will swell with joy
Vowing to remember him
She decides to wait
Years later perhaps she’ll be left to wonder why
As the long-forgotten dried forget-me-nots
In between the pages of a diary
Rest undisturbed with the memories she tucked away

Perhaps she will lose her heart to the layers of dust
It may well not re-surface until the winds of change
Stir long-forgotten memories

Her fate as yet

It is certain the birds will still be there
Balancing on the wire
Their penetrating screeching rousing minds and moving hearts
Compelling us to find a balance within all things

Some hearts still remain in fields of forget-me-nots
Mourning a lost innocence

The birds for them sing lullabies
As they rock the wire
Hoping these hearts find a way

Forget-me-nots are taken by the wind
When the change comes
I hope there’s a spot on the wire for the birds to rejoice

  © Rosi Pineiro