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.

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.

Repetition and Alteration

Repetition is a constructed lie
but one that allows us to thrive
for it's a variation improved by
the new moments had whilst alive.

Alteration in the familiar
is a route to a rout of rights
through perfecting something similar
and subsiding all of the slights.

Our Spin Sees it Just...

Pure morning light
    loitered on your
       exposed collar
        filtered through blinds
             who let strips in
           and the duvet
          kisses your breast;
       reflecting light -
     luciform love
and our spin sees it just
   that the ambered
       and slumbered sun
         should rouse those eyes
            from restful lids
         and dance to your
       rising shoulders
    exposing more
  winter lit skin;
soft snowy bliss.

Windswept

Seagull, mid-flight,

blown from its track,

caught in a gust of wind,

never finds its way back

but where does it

plan to descend

or if rather the case

did it have any ends?

I'd hope to think

it was fine chance

that took hold of its wing

and control of the dance,

for when you're caught

(feathered or fur)

it's rather the sign of

circumstance in the air.

Boundless Atmosphere

Such sinuous softness

in the silk of your skin

contains your heart's corona

and the light contained within.

Such selenic brightness

in the glow of your eyes

emits your lively love

and how our harmonise.

Such stellular hypnosis

in the pull of your lips

gravitates me towards you

and your meteoric fingertips.

Such heavenly halcyon

when you are in my arms

in a perihelion;

that point of closest calm.

Such heavenly halcyon

when our earthly bodies meet—

in space there's heard an explosion

as our weightless love accretes

Splintered Sun

Trunk splintered sun

lights leaves aglow.

Hands stretching high,

mist flying low.

The summer's death

is all for show.

Nothing to see,

nowhere to go.

Dark and Damp

Horrors lie uncertain

under Heaven's soft snow,

forsaken by sunlight

in a place forbidden go

but we ventured down

for the will of our kind;

us vessel of spirits

to see what we'd find -

it was dark and damp.