Wednesday, 11 April 2018

An Avalanche

The aberration of comfort is such
that pain becomes a remedy for angst,
irrational counters irrational
and I can see all my flaws with disdain.

It's as though observing an avalanche
with fond memories stored at the apex
and though safe in the knowledge that I'm safe
I get the stuttering sense to absond.

But do I flee from the danger I fear
or fly towards that which I'm set to lose;
how will I know that which I already know
if I'm concerned with how instead of why?

In indecision, I'm buried by snow
but I feel no fear with my skin aglow.

Thursday, 5 April 2018

Point of Migration

Morning mist blooms in a murmuration
that swoops between pastures seen from afar
and folds in its own fickle furation
both passing and ent'ring the window ajar.

I can barely fathom the fog's flirtation
for those who flock cannot see where they are
until I watch you break through the flocculation -
a morning fog broke by my morning star.

And the rays catch a golden elation
that glitters and dances like those birds alar
and having found the point of migration
we sail off into the sunset cinnabar.

No longer concerned by the follies of mist
but welcoming warmth where our wings have kissed.

Friday, 30 March 2018

A Barn

Sounds strewn in silence
                                           from a gaping wound
                                                                            that never meant harm;
b   e   c   k   o   n   e   d          b   y          b   l   a   c   k          y   a   r   n   .

A Hall

A hellish hollow
                        held together by
                                                  heavy handed walls;
d  e  a  t  h  '  s       c  o  r  r  i  d  o  r  s       c  a  l  l .

Wednesday, 14 February 2018

A City Skyline Through Closed Blinds

Fractured moonlight through the window
caught your figure like a net
and framed the city's skyline
with your body's silhouette.

The stars provided lighting
to your radiant, vibrant heart
which I regard not only as my home
but the greatest work of art.

Monday, 29 January 2018

Failed Form

I find your form failed;
flustered by the breeze.
Sinuous stellar strip
that seeps with apparent ease
through the open window
and the raindrops start to tease
and the sill begins to rot
and my luck begins to squeeze.

I find your form failed;
neglected by my care.
The precipitation thickens
like anvils from the air
in a desperately dark deluge
and it collects in my hair
and I lean from my open window
and I was never really there.


The cirrostratus sky frames your sweet smile
as the halo envelopes the lunar orb.
The pale light is twice reflected to the sea
and within it my worries are absorbed.

For the winter's dark is broken by your light
and the days are slowly getting longer.
With each parting cloud, your parting lips
and each sunrise seen, my heart is stronger.

In the solstice's end I find my solace;
you are the antidote for my furrowed frown.
For the halo that surrounds the pale moon
reflects upon the one I find upon your crown.

And when I am softened by such a spark
it makes me almost welcome a brief dark.

Wednesday, 29 November 2017

Not Ready for the Songs

The span of the season's wings en-
gulf my shaky sense of safety:
they drag my being to their nest.
Though I'd welcome to be nestled
within their feathery embrace
I would much sooner welcome rest.
So the robin that chirps for me
gleeful on those frosty mornings,
please leave your song until later.
They say it's the most wonderful
time of the year and yet the sense
of weariness is much greater.

Repetition and Alteration

Repetition is a constructed lie
but one that allows us to thrive
for it's a variation improved by
the new moments had whilst alive.

Alteration in the familiar
is a route to a rout of rights
through perfecting something similar
and subsiding all of the slights.

Our Spin Sees it Just...

Pure morning light
    loitered on your
       exposed collar
        filtered through blinds
             who let strips in
           and the duvet
          kisses your breast;
       reflecting light -
     luciform love
and our spin sees it just
   that the ambered
       and slumbered sun
         should rouse those eyes
            from restful lids
         and dance to your
       rising shoulders
    exposing more
  winter lit skin;
soft snowy bliss.

Sunday, 5 November 2017


Seagull, mid-flight,
blown from its track,
caught in a gust of wind,
never finds its way back
but where does it
plan to descend
or if rather the case
did it have any ends?
I'd hope to think
it was fine chance
that took hold of its wing
and control of the dance,
for when you're caught
(feathered or fur)
it's rather the sign of
circumstance in the air.

Boundless Atmosphere

Such sinuous softness
in the silk of your skin
contains your heart's corona
and the light contained within.

Such selenic brightness
in the glow of your eyes
emits your lively love
and how our harmonise.

Such stellular hypnosis
in the pull of your lips
gravitates me towards you
and your meteoric fingertips.

Such heavenly halcyon
when you are in my arms
in a perihelion;
that point of closest calm.

Such heavenly halcyon
when our earthly bodies meet
in space there's heard an explosion
as our weightless love accretes

Saturday, 4 November 2017

Splintered Sun

Trunk splintered sun
lights leaves aglow.
Hands stretching high,
mist flying low.
The summer's death
is all for show.
Nothing to see,
nowhere to go.

Dark and Damp

Horrors lie uncertain
under Heaven's soft snow,
forsaken by sunlight
in a place forbidden go
but we ventured down
for the will of our kind;
us vessel of spirits
to see what we'd find -

it was dark and damp.

Saturday, 21 October 2017


Feathers in your mouth and blood on your tail:
I can't help but be a fool for the facts.
Immaculate paws point to faith I'd lacked
and oust me as someone fragile and frail.

Yet we're still clearly left with a dead bird
and its carcass conveys a carnal sin
so it takes all my strength from within
to dismiss the tweeting that I had heard.

For sometimes feathers are merely feathers
and blood can come from natural sources;
when careless suspicions run their courses
fearful minds can break free of their tethers.

I still nurse that bird in my gentle hands
knowing not who did it harm nor where it lands.

Day To Day/Overwhelmed

Wilted and worn                           with little want
from the whirlwind                      stirring in my bed
of a day to day                             overwhelmed by life
tilted and torn                              by a feeling of can't
from the neglect                          that I've been drowned by
of a day to day;                           overwhelmed by life;
an overwhelmed life -               a day to day
with much to do,                         with little respite,
there's a drowsiness                   of mal-hydration
in a jaundice hue                          and a lack of light,
yet I can't keep up                        with life to live
when it comes to you                   and sleep to fight.

Atlas Stone

Lately, I've had a boulder
that I've taken everywhere.
Rested on my aching shoulder,
it's such a burden to bear.

But it has 'come a part of me
and so I cling to it like hell.
I feel as though it could be
the magic caster of some spell.

But day by day, I've felt strength wane
and the boulder's weight's increased
until I cannot take the strain,
the ache festering like yeast.

And so I've dropped it from my arms
but it's landed on my toes,
which seems to do even more harm...
I doubt the pain ever goes.

I've tried to lift the weight once more
but it was too heavy to take
and as it stays dead on the floor
my failing hands begin to shake.

And now my shoulders feel light
and my skin's no longer cut,
but I still have these hills to fight
and I still have a broken foot.

Saturday, 7 October 2017

The Worsification of Wine

The flocculent feelings of fondness
foraminate frost that had enveloped.
A flaught flicker in your eyes towards mine,
both intoxicated by wine;
I knew a love had developed.

The potency grew stronger with each pour

our pupils both dilated in awe.
More wine madefied your majestic lips
as my fingertips felt for you hips;
I recognised you without flaw.

The effects of the wine dissipated

yet those systatic sensations sinewed.
As intoxication was sedated
our hearts still both felt elated
by the love that was created.

Waking dream; Working dream.

Sleep steady,
sedated by the bright midnight
waking hours
find me heavy eyed
drifting into
nocturnal dreams
of existence,
down the darkest shard.
A luciform logic
malnourished by choice, working on caffeine
to hold a roof above my head
the rain already
falls too much
and the alarm calls
for another day.

Monday, 2 October 2017

Lost in the Lunar Lit Licks

Salt water seeps and spreads
through sepia sheets,
an owner caught unaware
by the changing tides
of the lunar sea
in a midnight stroll;
all light left those words
and meaning shattered
by shingles shunted
towards the shore.

The pale reflection leers
her flickering facade
as though luring the owner
into her sinewed grasp;
lecanscopy and the hypnotic
displacement of pebbles
working in synergy;
still he can't retrieve
those words he wrote
with an assured pen;

the night is ephemeral
but its damage holds eternal.

Sunday, 3 September 2017

A Second Floor Scene

A scent of freshly laundered linen
as your stripes slide off swiftly
and the creases                                
                                             of your skin
are snatched at in delirious delight
under the gaze of Venus' light
and the blinds                                   
                                 stir in the wind
snatching at the open window
where we echo in the night.

Friday, 1 September 2017

September Softness

A plethora of pressed petals
could not duplicate your delicacy,
nor could their scent evoke sensations
a slight bit as strong, as those sustained
by the perfume on your curved clavicle,
skin as exposed as those feelings
I struggle to conceal as you catch me staring
as my inner-self screams those words
that my tongue is too sedulous to speak.

Summer Upstaged

Summer retired, stage right,
with little fanfare,
upstaged by Autumn's carefree cameo,
undeserving of the star billing received
with her limited stage time,
swept away by the shifting folly of fame.

Wednesday, 30 August 2017

Night Tides

Opalescent aura; the phantom that falls
between my blinds and slips beneath
my duvet onto the folds of my sheets -
my glance and hers meet
at the still and silent sea,
a refracted halcyon, milky hue.
I turn over to you, tight eyed, smiling
at the sentiments that stirred me
from my sleep and how
that silver soul sensed
the soft tides in the waves of my heart.

Tuesday, 22 August 2017

Under the Mill

That hour elapsed with urgency,
my hands trembled but my will did not
as I watched you, watching me,
wonder in those great vessels within their emerald oceans
and I averted my gaze down to my plate,
long purged of its contents.

My eyes found the waitress's, an unspoken request,
as a folded receipt was brought over with packaged mints,
and I promptly overlapped it with plastic
and held open the door, buttoning my jacket
as we made our exit, into the sky's embrace,
fingertips glancing at first, then strengthening in grip.

We circumnavigated that reedy body of water,
reflecting your soft countenance, and mine paled with plans
 - we paused - 
lips glancing at first, then strengthening in grip
before we carried on upward to the rusting sky,
my thoughts anxious with times ans suppositional circumstances.

As our mirthful minds crossed that inclined threshold
we could both discern a city's silhouette in salmon skies
and found a place to rest aching legs and full stomachs.
I opened my mouth - unable to speak; and instead looked out
to the sea where white waves wandered, and my eyes wandered
to those deep emerald oceans once more.

My hands trembled but my will did not,
as I watched you, watching me,
and you replied,