stdClass Object
(
    [ID] => 14103
    [post_author] => 4
    [post_date] => 2013-12-19 13:23:27
    [post_date_gmt] => 2013-12-19 13:23:27
    [post_content] => If I could maintain the dip and
swoon, the plume of pine
needles on my jaw, seeing
feathers rustle in the wind
through an eyepiece…

If I could take the boughs of
your arms, ours, white
knuckles set to burst with
sea water, salt cuts healed
yet red as a cutlet…

If I could hand you every
liberation on a platter, flick
the lids of your eyes, your
lashes, destroy the ashes
of your own history…

If I could dive to the bottom
of your ship, latch like
limpet, nuzzle hull and act
as your anchor, rooting you
home, to me…

If I could shackle your
captors, and act myself
corsair, captain of the
captives, tame the sea
to see tsunami…

If I could see from the eye
of an albatross
the way you lift me,
the flex and poise of our
bodies over water…

If I could be seated, made
to breathe, to turn this seething
into something wondrous,
hold the waves at bay and
lament the gathering of the storm…

If I could meet lip with
lip, stumble over stair
and not my own words,
let the ocean wash over
me like a softened pebble…

If we could walk on hot
coals, callousing our soles
on a blistering scarlet sea,
clambering over shipwreck shards,
we would, saying ‘ah, you, me’.
    [post_title] => If I Could
    [post_excerpt] => 
    [post_status] => publish
    [comment_status] => closed
    [ping_status] => closed
    [post_password] => 
    [post_name] => if-i-could
    [to_ping] => 
    [pinged] => 
    [post_modified] => 2016-12-06 16:04:22
    [post_modified_gmt] => 2016-12-06 16:04:22
    [post_content_filtered] => 
    [post_parent] => 0
    [guid] => http://poems.poetrysociety.org.uk/?post_type=poems&p=14103
    [menu_order] => 0
    [post_type] => poems
    [post_mime_type] => 
    [comment_count] => 0
    [filter] => raw
    [meta_data] => stdClass Object
        (
            [wpcf-published-in] => 
            [wpcf-date-published] => 2013
            [wpcf-summary-description] => This poem was a runner-up in the English National Ballet Challenge on Young Poets Network (YPN) in 2013.
            [wpcf-rights-information] => 
            [wpcf-poem-award] => Runner-up, English National Ballet Challenge 2013
            [wpcf_pr_belongs] => 
        )

    [poet_data] => stdClass Object
        (
            [ID] => 2814
            [forename] => 
            [surname] => 
            [title] => Jake Reynolds
            [slug] => jake-reynolds-3
            [content] => Jake Reynolds is a former Foyle Young Poet and participant in the Hands across the border poetry project. He is also a winner of the Young Poets Network poetry challenges including ‘Censorship’ and ‘Imagism’.
        )

)
stdClass Object
(
    [ID] => 2814
    [forename] => 
    [surname] => 
    [title] => Jake Reynolds
    [slug] => jake-reynolds-3
    [content] => Jake Reynolds is a former Foyle Young Poet and participant in the Hands across the border poetry project. He is also a winner of the Young Poets Network poetry challenges including ‘Censorship’ and ‘Imagism’.
)

If I Could

Jake Reynolds

If I could maintain the dip and
swoon, the plume of pine
needles on my jaw, seeing
feathers rustle in the wind
through an eyepiece…

If I could take the boughs of
your arms, ours, white
knuckles set to burst with
sea water, salt cuts healed
yet red as a cutlet…

If I could hand you every
liberation on a platter, flick
the lids of your eyes, your
lashes, destroy the ashes
of your own history…

If I could dive to the bottom
of your ship, latch like
limpet, nuzzle hull and act
as your anchor, rooting you
home, to me…

If I could shackle your
captors, and act myself
corsair, captain of the
captives, tame the sea
to see tsunami…

If I could see from the eye
of an albatross
the way you lift me,
the flex and poise of our
bodies over water…

If I could be seated, made
to breathe, to turn this seething
into something wondrous,
hold the waves at bay and
lament the gathering of the storm…

If I could meet lip with
lip, stumble over stair
and not my own words,
let the ocean wash over
me like a softened pebble…

If we could walk on hot
coals, callousing our soles
on a blistering scarlet sea,
clambering over shipwreck shards,
we would, saying ‘ah, you, me’.