On the Mount

Incandescence on the mount, a thumbprint of sun sat

on the summit as swallows bob through haircut branches.

a certain someone alone with grass;

his thoughts are moths his skull of wool.

nature’s cut to frames, still her light restores his centre.

flakes of fairy dust feather my eyelids—

sharing design, or something intimate

to imbue and bond below a yew and imbibe

chimney smoke escapes the terraces below

and

wind of near seasons knock the day.

What If

A child in the supermarket,

clutches tightly their mother’s hand

makes micro-observations;

the height of the ceiling

and where the pipes may go,

counting the tiles on the floor

and creating an equation to match. 

what direction the shadows are cast.

It is a human desire to wonder – what if?

Allowing minute, insignificant things to manifest and grow

a trait often exclusive to a child’s psyche.

But by no fault of their own

a child

entranced by the ceilings

the floor tiles and the shadows

might not be so wary of the bigger things in front of them;

usually a pole, sometimes a window

but rarely a person

another child

who much the same would

never realise the other was there.

Fate wouldn’t bear good news, nor would it caution them 

their paths would just cross prematurely 

each afforded the other’s presence 

ten years too early and without 

the butterflies.

In the meantime, they fade

each clutching their mother’s hand

going their separate ways until they meet again.

For now, to each other, just shadows, only foreshadows.

My Palace

I caught your scent on my pillow

your fragments sewn into my skin;

the soft satin of your presence

is so pleasant to get lost in.

So I inhale your existence

and I choke myself on your fumes;

I walk slowly down your hallway

and I explore your fragrant rooms.

Your love houses my happiness

like a palace, vast and pristine

yet in homely intimacy

all is so dreamily serene.

Nightmare

Soft whispering, in my ears, or my head?

I turn and look, see and feel the new fear.

Thick black scars on hands and wrists where it bled.

Doom sighs, shifts and shudders as it draws near,

reaches for the mask, the face it’s wearing.

A cruel dark creature of towering gore.

Long nails dig under chin and scalp, tearing.

Its grinning visage flops onto the floor.

I’m running and my doom is pursuing.

I don’t want to die, not here, alone.

I hear it laugh, my flight is amusing.

Its talons rend my flesh and piece my bone.

I wake, my fears are once again my thrall.

But to be safe I turn and face the wall.