As Yet Unnamed

A summer day, whose heat belied

its overshadowed sky, enveloped in a

variegated green rolling from one

landscape to the next,

and in a madified mound framed

the moment where I divined 

that you and I - we -

are a pair.

So dead and dry those lifeless blades

of grass, when compared to that of your

exposed shoulder,

that the torn grass could scarce

forbid our youthful hearts to know

that our neanic bond

outshadowed

natures dearth.

Which severed stump?

Which wooly verge could ever demean the joys of Venus' domain.

That day I could taste the droplets

of your name on my lips, as I

exhaled; its wide-mouthed prefix

swam towards my joining lips

pushing together in unison

before lengthy sigh

had my tongue crashing

against the roof of my mouth,

stretching out the last sound,

impossibly as it was not to smile in ecstasy.

"Begin again!", I heard

your heart skip a beat. When whispered

your three syllables recall

bleak days when no-one had sounded them at all.

The hearts of men, of women,

of beasts and birds

cannot survive bereft of loving words.

Floating on Rolling Hills

Cradle me in your codeine

cuddles

as multiples of

my out-

s  t  r  e  t  c  h  e  d

arm reaches to

yours, lain cold on the carpet; pressed against glass

doors, spilling over green

fields,

meandering rivers,

and lonely roads alike.

The Passing of Storm Frank

Grandad, I remember those special times

like milk-rounds protecting you from parking fines,

screaming at the warden to leave you alone

in my youth, not knowing you could park on double lines.

Grandad, I remember how you asked about the scores

as you helped me close the milking barn doors,

both bemoaning the demise of glory days past

ever hard-working as you complete your chores.

Grandad, I remember a childhood playground from your farm

knowing that I could come to no harm,

a break from play with biscuits and pop

whilst listening in wonder to your unique charm.

Grandad, I remember how you displayed your pride

for how your family have all followed your lead and tried

and the way you have been such a influence on the girls

we all feel your wonderful warmth inside.

Grandad, I've learned how each moment that passes

is an excuse for laughter and I'll pass that to my classes,

there's rarely a serious moment that can't be made light

so I will see you when I get my glasses.

Sad Waves

I heed sad waves.

Rhythmic cascade.

Lunic black dirge.

Ceaseless worn surge.

The sea's dull blade.

Broken on graves.

Young Cardinal

In the muggy heat of early Fall, I lounged,

alone and weak, on a brown wooden bench;

Day surrendered to dusk, and mutely I gazed across

the grass, the trees, and wrinkled violet sky.

A pale young cardinal flew to my feeder,

its soft brown tufts lending a tender life to both

my thoughts and the humid air they slept inside.

Not sure I deserved her here, I kept so still

and distant, not wanting the bird to fly away -

not calling - taking cautious steps through grass.

But was I careful for her sake or for mine?

Perhaps they were as selfish and cowardly

as my dozing - fearful to move, or change too fast?

In meek flutters, the cardinal left, I creeping, yet still,

to the swishing feeder in the air now empty

of the sun's last rays. I knew too late that she

did not want silence, but life and holding warm -

crisp chirps and arm waving and kisses steady and long.

Returning in the black, I take up my bench,

my glass, my quiet and thinking, alone once more.

In the heat, my frail arms shiver constantly.

Waves of Wires

Waves of wires,

wrapped and tangled,

all worn and thin at the ends.

Waves of wires,

my brain has just wrangled

an hour of sleep til it mends

but world of worry,

restless and rotten

is an hour I can no longer spare.

World of worry,

too heavy to be forgotten

my wires are all burned and they're bare.

Returned

In the tremors of your dawning 

spot pride and your clothes

thrown from the white sheets

each dirtied 

by the floor 

and by the terrible realization 

of what we’ve done to each other.

[Nice Day]

A bed of grass amid

springtimes tender flowers

kissed by pleasing showers.

Jewelled in dew they hid.

The soil had held their shape.

Blue canvas stitched a roof

The grass still blonde in youth

softly framed her nape.

Another Day Done

I excite myself

with the promise

that with renewed vigor

I shall attack the day

when I rise to engorge

myself upon

what I cannot

this eve.

The deep and

profound need

to ingest

to imbibe

the new excitement

the newest marvel

the words that spill

from pen to pad

that reach the

toneless ears

of those

that lack the

remorseless hunger

of the novel.

The passion of interest itself

unbound

unheeded

untamed

must wait for

me to rise

again.

Such limitless drive

strains my drooping eyes... To bed. To bed.

Drifting

All is painless as I drift

into your

delirium of dazed delight,

lips clamped and shoulders frighteningly

still,

barely escapes a b^rea>th,

now wide eyes

[the teacher sensing the irony that he couldn't control his pupils]

I recognise the rhythms 

only your hollows make so well.

A Cached Stroll

The fusty fumble of the descending sky

took bites out of us-

like the horseflies that savaged my scalp

as you styled from over the style.

It uncovered what glossy green ivy covered so well

as bites started to swell.

Bats and birds flitted directionlessly above

as dipped headlight ants crawl from hilled hovel

to another beneath our behemoth feet.

Never such

Oh, you were like a summer's day.

its swollen buds, their juice

and bursts of fruity sweetness held

inside the rough winds loose—

and prodigal the heaven's eye

that scented man to spoil—

and clouds, and songbirds, and the sky

belonged to you, all.

Eternal should the day have been.

So who had it been, who

aboard this little earth had come

to net your flowered rue,

and freeze your winds to store them in

a cabinet to view?

Was I the perpetrator, used

too long to arctic hue?

(Who else? The world held but us two!)

Dazed by your nectar wild—

cupped by your richness, and then

in turn, your currents mild—

perhaps I'd seemed a ready thief,

bringing my gales and ice

as all the gifts you might receive.

For you, a mocking price.

For me, a harvest gathered twice.

Yet buds begrudge the place

which hard rime takes upon their beds:

they shatter it its base.

So let me make my return, flee

from treetop-roosting birds

to where no music comes with words

to where there is but me.

And as the summer comes to thaw

in sticky fruits, in jars,

I'll walk the Arctic's midnight thrall,

watching the icy stars.

Nuclear

The pink sky rubs off onto me,

and I am coated in the wisps like Nuclear ash.

Wafts of stale body smell rise from my bed and I.

The window sucks the trickle of my lamp

into the night -

a plenum,

slowly evacuating.

Outstretched

How would the tree atop the church

both stretch and live as one-

The wings of wood to call us death

take bulb upon the sun?

Petals, every one

to beat the fronds into an ice,

Where dance we may, a petal each

our moments into day?

To arm ourselves upon the grass,

to sprout into a wood--

In nova fert animus

the shapes end day as should.

Snapshot

While tomorrow's tomorrow's yesterday

and what was won't be forever

our precious fragments of today

will hold relevance forever

so that yesterday's yesterday's

forgotten not tomorrow, but never.

Visit to a Friend

The trees still lacks leaves.

They resemble elderly men in the daylight.

Soon the hairs will regrow.

The airplane in the sky that is so distant

is visible now.

The doorbell remember me.

Freight cars are loaded and offloaded.

The baggage that is one's soul is expanding.

It thrills with its duties.

The perfectionist worries

watching his shadow grow.

What It Means

What I thought impossible got me ensnared.

It might seem silly at first glance,

But many things appear dim when compared

To the shackles of circumstance.

Wide Open

I wondered what heaven looked like

but I don’t wonder anymore.

Heaven is a name, enveloped in blankets;

eyes closed and arms wide open.

Symmetry

Symmetry is everywhere

across my face, around your hair

but now with wilt is not so found

your shape to put my arms around.

And so I wait another day

for half an image to relay

but still I know, as sure as rain

balance will bring your form again.

Meandered

A word is worth a thousand pictures

if carved in a knot of magnolia bark

by covalent lovers 'midst the mist

of fog-less farts from man's machines;

and foxes wield mechanisms of defense

in unveiled wooly sports-coats worn

by and by the prophet in shattered carafes 

polished into a frozen lake of mercury;

and Ribble slides to and fro, catching gnats,

sprouting seedless sunflower tender-loins

torn away from sow-less lantern skies

obscuring the pupil black curtain far behind;

and when a blind man trips on fingered feet

dampened in salty dew and mucous fun,

he sees that silence makes those who weep

hear the sobs from echoes' rain-dropped keys

up onto the eminent brows 'n' ridge furrowed furred:

a promontory for truck-driving fleets of crippled use

to warehouses bustling with oily nails and meat;

and vowels tesselate to Persian patterns

seamlessly collected by some suspecting eyes

surprised mid surpluses of decanted meaning

that floats on by like fiery birthday blimps

manned by a trillion cells named Giuseppe;

but what factory made the first factory?

and whose name formed itself first?

by the letter-less alphabet comprised of grunts?

These questions sit ashamed in the corner

wearing still a pointed cap quoting "dunce;"

and so the shell with the infected pistachio nut

cracks open inexplicably and decides

to grow into a salamander's spot–a maze–

constructed by invisible web-coasts called mind.

The Greatest View

For each grained groove in old wisened wood;

for all of the beaches fine specks of sand;

there's that fragment of frail detail that could

outshine the finest things in this fair land

For each ripple shining against the shore;

for each shade of blue found within the sea;

there's not a single sight that could mean more

than what your resplendent smile means to me.

For each ray of sun to pierce sanguine skies;

for each jagged mountain that frames the view;

what's most spectacular to cross my eyes

is the eternal light that shines in you.

What makes this image all the more divine

is the fact I can call your beauty mine.

Pebbles and Paint

A shell

waves swell

worn down

men drown

by time

bells chime

Fleeting

On a dark night

a swan lands 

on a moon reflected lake

it glides in the water

and with a stroke of its wings it’s gone.

The only memories

are the waves it 

left.

Lost by the Interval

Lights flicker as numbers count down

but never make their way to zero. Soon

the blank images are replaced by people

in motion. You can see the sweat of their brow or

the innocence of youth

stolen by codes and wires.

The images continue to flicker

at 16 frames per second.

They come to a standstill at the interval

and then move again. It is a motion

that can be paused

but never stopped.