your eyes like bruises
injuries you don't recall
which shine angry regardless
glowing like sunsets
supercharged with pollution
gorgeous, but not worth the pain
all the stars were born
to illuminate this night
draw you clean from the darkness
a liberation
amidst the scraps of our world
the light needs to kiss your skin
Where is my delight
On a misty may morning?
Cattle amble over the meadow
from the morning milking shed
Quiet in their breathy wonder
At the silver grass.
Dewdrops shimmer
On Dandelion clocks
Damp fluff no time will measure
But quicksilver-lit,
they shine like stars.
What music can I hear?
Goldfinches twinkle
lighting the walls with glitter
And a Curlew sings
Her descending song
Down to the heath
And her treasure. #poetry
shake your made money
jingle pockets full of change
but for all your wealth
and haunted machinery
there will always be
a kid with dried gourds on sticks
filled with sun-dried seeds
dancing the rain of pummelled
skins stretched on wood frames
weaving patterns of counter
and pulse, free, beyond your claws
No future, no past,
Only the present moment
No view of distant hills
Or monuments
Most might say
the day is dull
But we choose how to see it.
The mile-long field
Glows golden in the grey
A million buttercups are singing
Lifting the larks to a golden sun
The single cornflower
Of the early spring
A bright blue galaxy
With new stars forming
None decaying
Bursting with light
And a gentle radiance
Lifting my heart
And lifting the Lapwing
Into the dance. #poetry
There is an intense intimacy in this one, @Aphelion.
Your veins, which carry your lifeblood, which pulse to your heart's throb. For breath to hymn that suggests a presence close; the tides that the lungs stir, audible. More than that, it is affected by your presence, as you are by its.
The stars, maybe an oblique reference to the star born content of your blood, the elemental, visceral basis of your being.
The Gods and the things without names - maybe your demons - waiting, speak to me more of the emotional, unspoken, hidden depths. The pain, the dread, the anticipation and hope of joy.
You heart, then, begs to hear the quickening breath to know the reality of a longed for reaction, I think. That which will be a sacrifice to those Gods, and an exorcism of the unnamed.
A plea to know love expressed, is at the root of this, as I read it.
Guillotined... cut asunder. Curtailed. Executed. Dreams as desires that are incompletely fulfilled.
Heart's desires that you fear may never be fulfilled. The lungs as prison pits of the air. Life itself, then, as imprisoned in present, physical bonds.
I take it you mean that you long to be free of the contraints this life imposes, @Aphelion.
your skin to my skin
as if closeness is safer
fingertip tracking your buzz
afraid of the shock
even as i ache for it
your sweet blade, your smiling eyes
such ordinary
ambitions - for cold gold's gleam
and fire rolling free
embellishing night's edges -
tattered scales glinting
beneath moss centuries deep
as if your slow dreams
seeped through lazy armour
to cosset you deep,
deeper into forgetting
absent, avoiding
the way the world failed to match
your terrible majesty