Visionary Heart

My trembles are you;
a part of you so ingrained,
entrenched within my mental and moral constitution.

I pity there is no eternal power
nor anomaly
in this wayward stack
of melting rainbows –
none at all, it seems,
to guide me.

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Chalk Bones

My cheeks inherited
these whispered blushes.
Above them sits one jewel
in the traverse
of my brow’s flesh,
a stream of teardrops,
permanently nestle
in the body of my face –

Dreaded Whispers

Cotinus Young Lady-SmokeBush-Asitcomes

Been gardening again… I love this plant.

Strokes of moonlight smother
the inflorescent
whispers of the smoke bush

wavering against twilight’s
ghostly dreams
while pondering the water,
pondering depth and death.

Parallaxed

 

Memories are slim chance shadows
That glide between the light and darkness

Imagination is a fat cat
Waiting to swell our indifferences

Walnut

poetry-surreal-trees-walnut-writingasitcomes

Poetry dances me,
with its incorrigible vice.
In the beauty of silence
naked jawbones crack,
a fleshless shudder.

You Are

 

When I see an attractive woman,
she embodies the best in women
and she becomes you.

You are attraction.

When I see a movie,
lovers kissing and holding hands,
all I can think is you and us.

Breakers

This mortal coil
is all aches and follies; in its foil

I did all
with my bestest smiles,

until your singing guile saw me
and lingered,

Weeping Psychedelics

To those who weep when
laughter sleeps,

for those whose days
are stolen by black dogs –

and even to those who keep
sanity all to themselves,

Hark!

Stark strangers loiter to scavenge thoughts once hid;
both now bustle briskly under this fair poplar

my muse, she blows keenly to rustle up these tired
parchments – not scratched e’er since autumn

The Keeper

I am the keeper of lost things,
those intangible imprints of wasted life,
destined to become the destroyer of goodness
and maker of sadness.

Sunset Senses

I smile at sunset’s throng of small songbirds
singing out while nuzzling their nested fauna,
dreamily chirping ‘til sleep stills them.

Lamplight

A soft lamplight of soul
clings, hidden in honeysuckle’s
straggly vine hollows,
it gives vacant worship
to the scented sprigs of omnipotence
traversing the climbing frame
permeating olfactory nerves –
aloof and untouched,
analogous to antenna.

We Close our Eyes

Above our head, hail forms, plummeting to pin prick curiosity
just as the jilted spring we foresaw disappears from view;
we crawl back to hide between the shadows of winter and yesterday.

Coming Home

From waterfalls to stepping stones, meandering
across history’s bones, I am halted by a sound,
the sound of mandolins.

Such a Tiny Thing

Sing little bird,
fly overhead,
rest in the trees’
wavering breeze.
Lift the curtain high at dawn
let the flickering candles yawn.

Love’s Fair Bounty

 

What summer’s sad fair
wouldst have me grace thy lips rightly
without strokes of seduction?
Tantalising is it not when ripeness befits
us as hosts and we lay warmly against each?

Piece by Piece ~ Christmas Poetry Challenge

I can’t wait to be back home
where the cold mingles with the dawn
and water drips delicately down the pane
catching the chilled air that still smiles
with the sunshine –
it has no aching bones.

The Raven

Raven, black, atop a tree
Screamed religion spuriously
Bleak-black probed me; evil glee
Before I shot it dead

Raven crowned so hideously
In a dream he came to me
Pitch black, vacant eyes I see
Before he swooped on dread

Silks (Quadrille)

winter leans with content patience
in white silk – clandestine
matters cannot be hurried –

Cardinal (Quadrille)

Picture source: Sock Monkey

Quadrille poetry form = 44 words & red bird. Thank you monkey.

Sins that stain a royal perch
are preened like smooth, red
berries –

Orchid

I was inspired by The Orchid Pavilion gathering of 353 CE which was a cultural and poetic event during the Six dynasties era, in China. The gentlemen (42 literati) had engaged in a drinking contest: rice-wine cups were floated down a small winding creek as the men sat along its banks; whenever a cup stopped, the man closest to the cup was required to empty it and write a poem. This was known as “floating goblets”.  In the end, twenty-six of the participants composed thirty-seven poems.

Wife, as my life fades with the closing
sun, weeds now overtake linen paths driven
into the wilderness,

I have no strength to fight them,
and soon you must walk this way alone
though my heart is warm still –

Cedar Summer: late summer silhouette & whimsy

I was inspired yet again by the fabulous, sock monkey.

for the Waxwing,
summer withers
sending the bare bones
of blooms to exit; their shift over

high up on defoliated twigs,
these sturdy spires become crows nests –
for one last look at sparse reminders
and stark remainders

Taste of Citrus

Under
a flat ledge,
in a garden view of lemon
groves – inscribed zest is
tickled by the scent of
interlopers wound under a single
helix of Nottingham green;

Beseech

 

A  Minute poetry form.

wouldst thou call upon love’s embrace
her cuffs of lace
will wrap warmly
and surround thee

Suspension

The shallow draught
of a flat bottomed,
open skiff drifts alone,
moving with its shadow
cross hatched
onto the vitreous water,
vying with the spirits that pour
across the bay.
As moonlight dresses them
they are reanimated –
proclaiming –
they would provoke our eyes
and enliven our dreams.

Crumpled Life

Life becomes a cascading nightmare
eerily hushed when those severed tears are
free flowing.

Arms wrap around stained bundles
of ruby red wine, blue grass and lipstick
pink collars.

Popple

Ripples carry songs
outward to beyond –
culminating at the edges
in a crescendo
that is too abrupt;
nothing is diminished,
no tune is lost
inside its bracketed echoes,
chiming molecules
and gentle undulations

Mad, Sad, Bad

one syllable poem: poetry challenge



The call of the wild
is like death in the night.
Bleak shots ring out
in the air full with howls
let loose like doves,
but it soaks them up,