Haze Loop

Mist ascends in morning's haze

as dreamers dare to dowse their daze,

but vapour's hold

can only fold

underneath the burning rays.

Underneath the burning bright

the goldfinch tells of her delight,

her feathered flow

is soft and slow

singing in the midst of flight.

Singing in the mid of day

the goldfinches have flown away

so too has gone

the sun who shone;

mist ascends in renewed haze.

Autosarcophagy

If I could eat through these walls of hard bone

to find an exit from my dingy cave

then my jaw might clamp onto some unseen zone

that leaves me with fresh strategies to save.

I know that soon my gnawing teeth will yield

when they start to pierce the layer of thick skin

that's worn so thin it can no longer shield

my empty vessel from the mess I'm in.

I've come to terms with my fruitless escape

now that I've noticed I'm my own jailer

and if this prison is one I can't reshape

then I will remain wrapped up in failure.

But I will still keep biting at my skull

for my restless stomach is never full.

Broken Black Glass

|                                          .lɒnimɿǝɈ 

|                                         bǝmǝǝb ƨi 

|                                bloʜ ƨǝʞɒɈ ɈɒʜɈ 

|                         noiɈɒυɈiƨ ɔiɈpǝƨ ǝʜɈ 

|                 liɈnυ bǝɿonϱi γlǝϱɿɒl Ɉυb 

  |                  Ɉnǝƨǝɿp niɒp bǝυbbυƨ ʇo 

|              noiɈɔǝlʇǝɿ ǝƨnǝɈ lυʇiɈip ǝʜɈ 

|                                               mɒ I . 

|                                      ɈnǝmɈnǝƨǝɿ 

|                                ϱnibnυoƨǝɿ bnɒ 

|                       ǝnob bǝƨopxǝ Ɉpǝɔxǝ 

|                                  Ɉʇǝl ƨi ϱniʜɈon 

|                           bnɒ nɿow ǝɿɒ γǝʜɈ 

|                         liɈnυ niʞƨ nǝʞoɿb ʇo 

|              ƨɿǝγɒl nǝǝwɈǝb ƨǝbilƨ ɈɒʜɈ 

| ƨƨɒlϱ ʞɔɒlb ʇo bɿɒʜƨ bǝɿǝɈɈɒʜƨ ǝʜɈ 

|                                                  mɒ I

 _____________________________

Bare Branches

I look out to see the branches are bare

but I don't remember seeing leaves fall.

It seems we go from having it all there

seamlessly to having nothing at all.

It makes me wonder just when did they leave

and where have the vibrant times gone?

Has the sun merely had a small reprieve

or has the light permenantly moved on?

I know that there will be new leaves to grow

but there's a cold winter to endure first,

and if the branches can shake off the snow

then I can cope with old leaves being dispersed.

We've suffered the season's sudden refresh

but we can look forward to starting afresh.

A Change of Routine

A change of routine

new sizes in shadows

I step into open skies.

A loss of lush green

no singing of sparrows

Summer has seen her demise.

I'd usually mourn

a farewell to flowers

and the beach days that have been

but all is reborn

and within my powers

is the chance to change my routine.

Shepherd Tones

Chairs have been sitting on me

with jumping beans flashing green,

just sleep and you will see

I can only live what we can dream.

I'm not sorry for my smile

but my bleary eyes say otherwise,

let us rest for just a while

and we can sing to the sunrise.

Lunar Sea/Lunacy

Smoky jonquil hue
concaved and serrated,
concealed by the clouds
softened and sedated.

Intermittent blinks

flashes of ruby red,

guiding in the dark

as sea and sky are wed.

Dulled by a warm blade

veiled in a vapoured gloom,

piercing the nothing

the sunk ship met her doom.

(and so too did the moon).

A September's Sunday by the Sea

Light catches all that comes out to greet it;

glints glittering in pebbled hills

glints glittering in the ocean's wafered waves,

glints glittering in Sunday's satisfied eyes.

Sounds orchestrate for those who hear its silent cacophony;

a crash of footsteps, uneven yet definitive,

a crash of waves, constant and icy,

a call for company, cold and unconvincing.

The breeze joins in, droning docile;

moving the flickering corner of this page,

moving overhead, a plane's engine sings and a father's finger

moving, pointing duly to the sky for his squinting son to see.

A cloud of delicate birds mould into forms,

migrating south, grasping the warmth with their wings

and faintly heard behind is the constant hum of traffic,

Sunday drivers strolling coastal roads to coastal towns.

All is quiet and peaceful

if I let the surroundings relax my mind.

All is noisy and vibrant

if I let the surroundings focus my mind.

All is beautiful.

Contrasted Cliffs

In layers of scratches and incisions

your form evolves along the bumps and bends,

shaped by passing time and man's decisions

where sturdy lives may meet their crumbling ends.

But amongst the chalk, granite and the sand

there is something of beauty to be found,

for throughout the differences of the land

it's all anchored by the same common ground.

So let age not define your sense of self

nor be it the colour you have been formed,

you are not your possessions or your wealth

but sculpted by the beliefs you have formed.

Do not discriminate texture or tone

but see beauty in all kinds of stone.

#Sunsets

Sunset in a mirror
rusting into memory
of a day gone by.

Corners

Half-light
            l i t t e r e d
e      m      p      t      y
                                    cor
                                       n
                                       e
                                       r
                                       s
like fingers on metal bars
and seeping in, you
illuminated the - idea -
of a world passing by
                                                                    outside,
awaiting analysis and accentuation, like the
cor
n
e
r     of my room.

A Year

In winter's nights I see your shine

but in summer's days it's more divine.

My jaw just falls as footsteps spring

as I clasp onto a light that's mine.

I see with time the light wont fade 

but brighten with each moment made

as I seek into the the season; you

make my mind assured and less afraid.

So one short trip around the sun
is a lifetime of love, just begun.

As the sun, life revolves around you -

like the Earth, I am smiling and spun.

Aflame

Creases line their lears

across lamp-lit halls.

Amongst my flickering fears

its stony face falls.

It's crevices crossed

and my caution cast.

They bare their moulded teeth, mossed,

at my own, aghast.

Slipping to their soles

in pools filled with oil,

I find my heart full of holes,

pockets filed with soil.

Getting to my knees

it dowses my graze.

Gasoline caught in the breeze

burning out my daze.

He Lays in the Ocean

He lays in the ocean,

cruciform, eyes lacerated by salt

awaiting divine tides to guide Him

one way or another.

Beneath the waters, clear and glittering,

He discerns the Sun's shimmering corona

glinting back in the sands.

He rules to retrieve it, and diving under,

parts the water with His hands,

hinged with heavy chest.

Grasping that miraged halo

provided His rough hands

with nothing but coarse sand

and no safety of shore nor surface.

Freira

Fervent fevered frowns

on a mossy fingered bridge.

Folded foliage sways

in faint but fickle leaning,

frightening the freira

whose lightly seasoned feathers

brush against the ridge.

A most maternal dismay;

the ballet of flidge.

Tip

I keep my desperate delights locked away

in an airtight sealed bag

until long nights of longing,

hedonistic heart and aching feet,

disparate dissonance in decrescendo

and rapid crescendo returning.

I am saved for another day

as my suspect aspects widen

and I am short of breadth.

Ebb and Flow

White foaming waves,

roll pebbles cruncing

hard into smooth,

overhead swoop shadows

falling and rising

in circular motions.

Motions circular in

falling and rising,

shadows swoop overhead,

smooth into hard,

crunching pebbles roll,

waves foaming white.

Bled Colours

Primary manifestations

of secondary thoughts,

my colours all bleed into one.

Letting the sun's heat saturate

the pondering of pores

and the contrast of thought is gone.

Such is the richness of colour

I have no want to mix

but to bask in vividity.

Yet a citrus drop on my tongue

in nectar hydration

heightens my stroke's lucidity.

So I let the tool fall freely

as the waves roll in eights

and the skimmed stone ripples sixes

but then a cloud conceals the rest

and the tide's creeping in

until all my colour mixes.

My Enchanting Ghost At Night (Day 30)

Majestic emeralds, green and neon,

might encapture God's almighty nirvana.

More Earthly grace already noted;

madefying every gossamer as nectar...

my enchanting ghost at night.

The Heart's Hits (Day 24)

You are the petrichor,

mon chéri amour,

after a summer's drought.

Earth-scented and pure,

in lush refreshed verdure,

I'm dampened and devout.

A hoppipolla bliss

as raindrops dance and kiss

on ill-advised outfits.

We seem to be insane

as we're singing in the rain

to all our favourite hits.

As Sure as the Sun (Day 16)

With the softness of snow

but the warmth of the sun,

I try not to melt

with your heart on the run.

I can't help but succumb

and bask in your burning,

I become liquid;

I'm yielded and yearning.

For I crave more and more

with each moment we share

and as sure as the sun,

you'll always be there.

Faded Footprints

Matter being made to matter

by a basic belief of self;

for a footstep can still exist

without awareness of its patter.

So what gives us a distinction

from a footstep or some shoes;

is it yearning for a future

or intrinsic fear of extinction?

No memory of a first breath

does not mean that I have not been

and just as the inaminate

I shall have no memory of my death.

So I'm no more alive than this pen

that brings alive these empty words,

and like a footprint I will fade

never to be considered again.

I Made a Lot of Mistakes

Feathered flutter hovers over hollow mounds.

All things stay.

All things change.

Outstretched wingspan blustered over golfing grounds.

Drive away.

Hunting range.

Sunlight from Atlantic's reflection blinding.

All things stay.

All things change.

Overheard phonecalls of dejection finding.

Work away.

Rearrange.

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.

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.

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 .

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.

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.

22°

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.