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.

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.

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.

Iceage

Oh how you've been clinging to those icy grips

like languishing leaves lost among litter.

The weather, it tries its best to warn you

you'd be left directionless and bitter.

That's not to say it's cold all of the time

but rather a sudden forecasted front

and what meteorologists once said;

they'd now rather not be taking that punt.

The forecast's grim; but at least not for him

who's walking around in shorts and a vest.

His happiness shows, for he really knows

he's on the cold Earth only as a guest.

And when the ice melts, he'll swim in the flood

and when he's drowning he'll say "it is good".

Sea Legs

I gazed as your saliferous hair

slapped upon the sunset rocks

of a sangria sea.

From out of the mist 

my searchlight came

seeking your signal

to close in on the cooling evening.

Yet the waters are too rough,

I am dehydrated

and I have lost my sea legs.

In Chase of the Roadrunner

I am the coyote that can fly

but only so long as I think

I am the touching the ground.

I will look down to see

nothing but air

and my predicament will realise

itself.

Dog at the Theatre (A Variance of Light)

Has there been a change in light

or have I just noticed your flaws?

The rays that break through the blinds

expose the state of your paws.

The clouds have opened like curtains

with the first act set to start.

The tale to put your tail between your leg

and I hope it's only the curtains set to part.

There's a wound you keep on licking

and put on display with pride.

I too have an ailment

but one that I'd rather hide.

Yet all you know is to whine and cry

not telling me what is wrong.

I try to second guess the story

from the tone of your song.

So I ask you to lie in your bed,

my voice stern yet with tact.

I calmly caress the crevice of your skull

and prepare you for the final act.

Bird Trap

I caught you in my trap,

little bird,

and now I let you go.

I long to see you spread your wings,

my love,

in magnificent full flow.

Sunset and Secrets

A splintered sunset in salmon skies

stuck in my paws which are rubbing my eyes.

Obfuscating bark parts to reveal

the dark of the woods til the next dawn will rise.

For now, owls perch on branches of teal,

sharing the secrets that night will conceal.

The morning fire kindles the smouldering shade

whilst phantom embers attempt to appeal.

And so in the day, more secrets are made

by that one star who refuses to fade,

yet the day also swears that he will not tell

as the trees protect light with their palisade.

And so time went in a coherent spell,

until the secrets spilt and the first tree fell.

Caution

The boards, once tightly bound and bolted

are broken and creak under my weight;

I don't avoid their rotting route

but leave my fall in the hands of fate.

The soles of my shoes are faded

and present a hazardous chance to slip;

I don't choose appropriate footwear

but I do a dance to avoid the dip.

The Sound of a Human

Do monsters ever cry at night in bed, snoring fast asleep?

Do monsters ever stop  and think of who they're going to eat?

Roar goes the lion;

growl goes the bear.

What sound does a human make

sleeping under there?

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.

Pebbles and Paint

A shell

waves swell

worn down

men drown

by time

bells chime

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.

The Lagoon

There is a beautiful, blue lagoon I know

that is as deep as the oily pupils that draw me in.

Here I have spent many a frescade as spring's knosps vesuviate

and the shock of her gelid grasp makes me vociferate.

The glacial water is a welcome rest from the unsubtle sun

but there is an ominous dread that ripples on her surface

that makes me stop short and merely dip my timidly trembling toes;

a mutual fear that leaves me feeling exposed.

I hear tales of men being lured by her irrecusable charm,

and falling in to a liquid lysis, never to be seen again.

Yet I know that I'm a strong swimmer, a match for her pernicious pull;

how could such serenity be harmful?

Legend says that the lagoon is so perilous

because she doesn't want those lovers and lazers to leave.

Those fears are allayed by my intense admiration for her gentle tact

and a desire to stay in her loving grasp.

Besides, it is a fact that water is vital

and her dulcifluous drops are the only ones I'd ever long for.

Despite unwarranted worry's repines, her resplendence is a refulgent refuge

that deserves more than a response of a subterfuge.

And so I dive in, with a cerulean coalescion

looking past the caliginous fear to the depths,

and once in, the depths become diaphonous that the eidolon I see

is merely the internecine fear that resonates in me.

My lecanoscopic love will not lacerate my lungs

nor will my constant craving cause kraurosis.

So I ask to madefy my desire to swim, and in turn I shall pacify her fear

hoping that her hesychastic heart shall keep me near.

Morning Coffee Breath

A morning of caffeine and reflection

helped to dampen my dejection

and stain my fingertips and teeth. 

But the tip of my tongue still blunders

 when my mind meanders and wonders

to a blighted and beleaguered belief.

Windbreak

I let the drizzle fall and form its stains.

I'll dye the rest so it can look the same.

Thinking what it would be like outside

while melted wood is running down my thighs.

And still my joints creek like weak trees

that are easily swayed by the whispering wind.

Knowing I have no time for her heavy hands

and yet I can't help but miss the moaning reprimands.

Sequestration at Sea

My aimless heart dances atop a tide-free ocean

with no pull to bring him to shore.

I know that he does not mind being at sea

but my mind's not as sure anymore.

I can't decide if I'm more frightened at getting stranded

or that it's what I hold deep within my will.

You see, at heart I am still a buoy

who is destined to stay innocently still.

With luck, I will be led to safety by a lighthouse

and arrive at your body of land.

A life spent avoiding being on the rocks

might prevent me caressing the sand.

So I will concentrate on making my life a speck

barely seen by hostile telescopes.

I will sail as far away as I can

then drop the anchor and cut the ropes.

Night Shames

Composing conversations

in my head

with the ideal conclusions

to relieve dread.

But what I can construct

within a thought

is never completely construed

the way it ought.

And so I must recompose

with blushing shame

a peripheral panicked past

penned to my name.

Helicoid

Sunday's splintered sunlight

punctures panicked moments

that the mind construes as truth.

A subconscious retelling

of Monday's mundane memory

that manifested in my youth.

The authentic narrative

from a nebulous night

in a morphinic stream

is surrendered seconds

of a worn-out waking life

wound up in last year's dream.