TOUCH (Five Minute Friday)

When I have no words
Let muscle, bone, skin speak
Stretch forward to imprint
Through sheer pressure
Of chest and arms
Strength, love, hope
Or lightly, finger on finger,
By osmosis
Or electrical current
Transfer the message
That you are not alone
A transference of molecules
To pump thorough your veins
Spark through your neurons
And permeate your heart, your head
With the missive
Slowly saturating your body
That I am with you.

More posts inspired by this week’s prompt can be found here:


LACK (Five Minute Friday)

That cold empty ache, like I couldn’t catch my breath even though I was breathing normally, filled my chest, spreading into my head and stomach.

The severity seemed to come out of nowhere, out of proportion. I was on the last half mile to work, thinking about writing a response to an old poem as I waited for the last set of lights to change, when my calm logic and hopeful thoughts were washed away and replaced with this void, this ache.

And I felt again the awfulness of the loss of my dad.

I just longed for him to be here still.

When my mum died, for a long time I knew exactly how long it had been, down to the week; once I even counted the number of days and hours since her passing. But with my dad it was different, timescale vaguer, as if I had become slightly immunised against grief.

So I was caught unawares by this feeling.

I just wanted him here again. I wanted his smile to twinkle at me in some shared mischief. I wanted the bristle of his moustache as he kissed me. I wanted to knock on his door and hear one of his welcoming catchphrases. I wanted to climb on his lap, lean my head on his shoulder, and feel his strong arms protecting me from the overwhelming world outside and in.

Most of all, I felt the sheer lack of him.

That’s not the end of the story, not a complete a picture of my life or even my day, I know. I could tell you of the Heavenly Father who is always present to me, who my earthly one pointed me towards. I could tell you of the wonderful others in my life who echo my dad so I am never without that manly love.

But for those few minutes, as the lights changed to green and I drove up the hill to the car park, continued through the barrier to my spot, until I stepped out of my car to start my working day, for those few minutes, I just missed him.

(Linking up to the weekly inspiration and shared writing @


…Elsewhere, swathes of colour flash
Around the great donation boxes.
Strong footsteps assert their way to the front.
Silken embroidered robes are swept aside
As, with a flourish,
A fat purse is rustled out of deep folds of fabric.
Each gold and silver coin spangles in the sunlight
Before falling individually into the box
With satisfying clang:
The larger the donation the larger the audience
Necessary for the performance.

Nervously waiting
Until all the great donors are gone
(Reassuringly patting the plumpness
Of their spare purses)
A dowdy figure quickly, almost furtively,
Approaches the boxes.
Her hand brushes the opening
So fleetingly that no one notices,
Except One,
Who hears the imperceptible clink of two tiny coins
And acknowledges with approval her private sacrifice.
She leaves with empty pockets
But a full heart…

This is an excerpt from a longer piece I wrote but it just seems to fit this week’s Five Minute Friday prompt well