Time on my Hands

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.

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.

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.

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.

The Rat

The rat willed for refuge

from the chambers in the sewers,

crowded everywhere that it went.

Away from the refuse

and negativity that skewers

all of the time it has spent.

So it indecisively sought

a solitary space of its own,

but not one single section could it find.

Instead it was caught

by the reality that was thrown

that it was trapped in the tunnels of its mind.

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.

Baby Teeth

I pray not to be kept

only for sentiment
like milk teeth in a vitamin jar;

distastefully disregarded - but not discarded

high up on a dust sheeted shelf.

I'd have no room for growth

already extracted
and discoloured with age;

an empty keepsake - a cluttered headache

that no nostalgic pill could remedy.

And I pray don't liken my love
to the taste of Calpol,

    sickly saccharine and sweet;

nor that friendly smile - gone for a while

replaced by a bitter tasting scowl.

Instead you should hold on

to what's relevant now

and the teeth that serve you best;

to chew and grind - but never merely to remind

as some torn and toothless trophy.

#TickingBoxes

Count the syllables

like the days during winter;

nod your head then die.

Night Light

Shocking synapse barrage

weans a wary glance out the soul's windows

apple of the beholder's eye;

heart palpitations, away it goes.

Scalding black drink

innervate the weary soma

stimulate neither skull nor organs

Blind to dreams and desire, mental glaucoma.

Sweet synesthesia needle,

holy skin, mind wholly in trance

gnaw on God's flesh

and falter in his dance.

Rising lumen reflexes

further subdue subterranean sorrow.

Sensory blaze, pneuma to ash

vagrant drift to vapid tomorrow.

Ticking Away

This starts

as something

something so slight

                                                                     until caught by                                                            time

and is caught by the night

until it departs

without warning

and it is

over.

Seven Years

More dishes pile—

more to-do lists undone.

Shout away shade

and scrape out the muck.

Never forget to smile

and try to have fun 

before the mirrors, their shards

and with it all the years of bad luck.

Loss

Synthetic and coarse,

a wild untamed horse.

An indigo glow

with nowhere to go;

slow narrow lanes—

Meetings and migraines.

Pay at the pump

Clinton or trump—

the new fire or ice;

a roll of the dice

and the score is low...

An Indigo glow

—a wild untamed course—

the world shows no remorse

Cold Tea

In the cup's chamber, a teabag infused 

and was decidedly discarded - 

happy that it could make the brew strong.

Perhaps enough for one more use,

never as satisfying as the first;

and though perhaps enough to quench the thirst

nobody once those last dregs loose

and left lying for far too long.

And so the teabag, so lowly regarded

was left cold and then politely refused.

Captain's Entry

I woke up this morning because there was nothing else to do

but gravity's grasp on my head

pulled my thoughts like a tidal shift

so I remained looking at the light

that squirted through the narrow slits in the blinds

like a gaping hole on a ship set for the ocean floor.

Accepting my fate I got out of bed and went to the door

to check if the letterbox held any hope

yet that too leaked

as saltwater coarsely collided with the back of my throat

so if this ship is incapable of being steered to safety

I might as well lock myself in and nail any gaps shut.

I woke up this morning because there was nothing else to do

and nothing of note happened

so I fell back asleep, content

with the fact that I still haven't drowned

and despite the uncertainty that the signals are reporting

I still refuse to sink.

Thinning

My attempts

to inject vivre

have been in vain

so I vociferate

the vitality in my blood

until it all begins to wane.

Rut

Days and nights all terribly bleak ;

a way away from the mundane is all I seek.

A breath of fresh air , something to fill the void

when tar-like despair engulfs all I once enjoyed.

Nights of gluttonous blackness , and days in grey

tomorrow will be better, or so must I pray.

Breath

Thereisn'tenoughspaceforspaces 

Ortimeforerasing.

Dentrimentalsentiments 

Setmonumentalprecedents—

Nothingisevident.

Faulty

The light powdering

through the hole in my head

can be seen through the hole

in my feet for I am hollow.

The fact that sleep

won't fix these faults

can only seem to add to

my drowsy sense of sorrow.