Themo H. Peel, is an American writer, poet, and graphic designer best known as the author and illustrator of the fantasy novel Black Star. He has authored and illustrated a number of children’s fantasy stories and poetry anthologies. He attended Yale University studying fine arts (graphic design) before completing an MA in meriting (poetry) at the University of Edinburgh. He currently lives and writes in Edinburgh, Scotland.

Haar on Leith 

It starts as 

silken sleeves rolling 

over roof tops, cresting 

concrete teeth softened 

under hazy glow. 

In gloom, luminescent 

sheen of misty morning 

unshaken by the sun, 

it holds close, a dream. 

My breath unfurls 

a whirl of vaporous 

splendour, Celtic tendrils 

wend their way 

into a glorious world. 

Not grey – glittering  

mists envelope us 

painting tenements castles 

in the clouds, a halo 

on our seaside home.

Jigsaw on the Links

I watched a child

running with a jigsaw,

excitement gliding their toes

over grass tips like wings.

A gangly gait flinging them closer

to daddy’s arms, dazzling

as pieces fell behind

sowing lessons in disappointment.

Over the hill and through the waves 

For my Edinburgh Blue Ball brothers

I lost my glasses in the choppy water 

leaping through diamond spray – a selkie-shaped ballerino, 

pirouetting and spinning as waves lifted me,  

fingertips pointing skyward, just barely brushing the sun. 

 

No one told me 40 would come with abandon  

which makes men giggling mermaids,  

sputtering salt and sand until judgement and woe  

are surf broken on beds of communion. 

The icy North Sea pushed it all out, 

sorrow drifting further away, unbuoyed and sinking, 

my body numb to weighty cares, 

melancholy ripped free, unnoticed, into undertow.  

I stayed there, stinging cool skin, smiling as waves 

churned endless blue-green champions, like mad kelpies 

dragging away the last thrashing burden, 

never to be seen when blinded by the cold morning sea.

Sea bird

I learned to live without them;

a family at war.

I crossed seas on broken wing,

bones fortified with salt spray

and what they had not given me.

With claw and finger and sinew

I reached for everything,

my disparate viscera fighting the storm, 

until, slowly, my grasp turned inward.

There I embraced the long forgotten –

a little bird who would survive, stronger 

apart with himself, 

calling his halcyon song on the wind.

Peacock

You wore lime green shoes.

And since then 

that coffee shop where we met

has been a kebab house,

a place that specialised in artisanal BBQ,

and now a pretty decent gin bar.

But it won’t be tomorrow.

Since then we’ve survived divorce, 

foreign citizenship, 

surrogates in America, bankruptcy,

and all our family dying

from ravage and disease.

But I still remember those lime green shoes

And the miracle they walked into my life.