your eyes and the pour of time
through my breached defences
i am uncertain of my edges now
aware of the mixing swirl
of a cosmos in which we are the dance
of endless restless smallness
we are the coalescence of waveforms
mingling in a glance
itself embroiled in the everything
a sharing of the tales light tells
a charge, a spark in the shadows
when the wind sings
and the trapped sails drift
then turn
wheat ears between the stones
serving the gritty rumble
and nearby in the sun
we are testing the dirt
for the survival hope of small insects
and whether we will dash them
or offer mercy
the blade isn't an answer today
wasn't an answer then, for me
heated to sterile because the drama of fire
licking the steel was cinematic
though predictably gauche
and i choked
lacking blood enough
to restore the scorched sands to life
lacking the conviction
i could ever be clean enough
to not infect the knife
this is the prize game
played for art as embodied
in the warpaint built from joy
and raw practiced skill
surgery of light and shade
colour as scalpel and graft
keep it low level
and subdued
enough below notice
people don't
but are changed nonetheless
creep in like mice
and chew wiring
no one knows they need
until it fails
do not ask permission
commit violence
quiet and soft
as snow falling
outside the window
changing everything
secretly
like the bunched duvet
you left behind to haunt me
memory of wood
sucked dry by the thirsty flames
left ghost, a haunting
shaped from the fire's soft grey tears
collapses empty
beneath the settling structure
we carefully built
later i'll make the spare bed
leave ours your lost body's cave
Three Curlew, a skylark
And a song without words
Both mournful
And triumphant
Floating
like a ship of dreams
Over the misty ocean.
Summer green
Brightens the morning
Chases the gloom away
And the pull of the hill
Is easing.
The air is full
Of the scent of the mow
But I'm up to my waist
In buttercups and lace
And deep in my heart
I know. #poetry
fuzzy-edged distortion
your hands warm in my hands
we breathe across the sky
foraging for dreams we misplaced
and forgot the flavours of
drift smoke-light across dusks
each more heartbreakingly beautiful
singing tales soft
we hope and fear are heard
and dread hearing bounced back
from uncaring slabbed dullness
we dissolve and fizz
edges like ash exhilarating
in spin and drift
sometimes it's easier to hold on
than it is to see you
decay deep covered
beneath skin so plump and smooth
they hope no one notices
their sweet corruption
and no one does - a fragile
mind fist and language fractured
haunted by almosts
possessed by musts, shoulds, and nots -
has built from kicked-in windows
a rain of keen blades -
all that fertile soil poisoned
to grow lying heavy plants
overripe, slick, bursting
fingers intertwined
a grabbed hold, a salt thirsting
the room half lit by streetlight
focused race towards
somewhere we both have to be
familiar yet new again
Utterly gorgeous
Cornflower blue
Cloudless
The softness of cool
On the summer breeze
May in her glory
Dancing in her joyful
golden fields
Hedgerows bright with
White lace shimmering
And heady
with the scents of spring
Hawthorns blush
With rosy tints
As deep within
The hidden wrens
tick like little clocks
Counting down the years. #poetry
slip into quicksand
as if into a warm bath
a deliberate choice made
to sink beyond sight -
if only - peaceful deep dirt
an escape from the chaos -
no one sees me here
a darkness like a gullet
swallowed to drift to pieces
and then to nothing -
nerves no longer pain-shredded
but no kisses on soft skin -
claw back to the light
