Archive for ‘Paul’

March 16, 2015

The Way You See Them

by beeseeker

Hot feet, impatient to eat the miles,

Get past – over, through, round – the

Heart attack jams on this

Stretch of cold-as-business road.

Runes, signs, lines

Whispering at me

“Blue open skies

Are nothing but lies,

Friends will make you weaker …”

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February 20, 2015


by beeseeker

I am (the only)


Of Father Never-Still River

And Mother Daytime Sky.

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October 1, 2014

The Very Air …

by beeseeker

Last night, after dancing, laughter,

Connections became passion –

Not yet to be mistaken for commitment –

Between strawberry-blush skies

And a succession of

Blueberry and ash ridges.

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September 29, 2014


by beeseeker

Ever’body you meet –

At work,

In the street –

Seems to be rushing by:

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February 25, 2014

Only The Innocent

by beeseeker


Tomorrow’s dawn should find me

On the Yellow Card Road:

Framed, guiltless but shamed

Between the rising, rain-filtered sun

And what I already knew.

View original post 34 more words

February 25, 2014

Hope, Like the Moon …

by beeseeker


Sun, bright redeeming sun

Shocks and surprises me this dawn

As I patiently creep between

The long made bed and

The one I am slowly building.

View original post 72 more words

February 8, 2014

To Sit With You Again

by beeseeker


(Hello Facebook my old friend,

I’ve come to sit with you again)


In a public book of avatar faces

We meet without touching,

Talk without speaking:

The background echoes

Of a minstrel-prophet.

Did he really see what was coming?

Is it so wrong to crave silence?

To try to turn up a collar

Against the ego, babble and nonsense?


That time of year:

Grave winter becoming

Brave spring;

That soul-search time of night,

That stage of unexplored friendship:

Depths innocently plumbed.


There’s no music

That I can hear.

This is a song

I can never sing.



View original post

January 31, 2014

We Should Not Delay.

by beeseeker

Twice three days

Past the last of the

Snow-and-salt trees,

Belts of long mountains,

We may find

What we deserve

In this serious desert:

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January 26, 2014

Monster ?

by beeseeker

Nail the mewling monster to the door

With red-hot iron dogs and

Be not gentle with the sledge

That drives them home

Through bone and sinew.

If it pleads, tries to explain;

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January 22, 2014

… and the broken

by beeseeker

I defy you,

Or you …

Any of you who are

Capable, still,  of feeling;

Not robbed of sensitivity

By society’s cavalries …

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January 21, 2014

My Cold-Silver Princess

by beeseeker

This question-prompt night, I feel the

Travel-far wind of her passing –

My cold-silver princess moon –

As it gently settles its precious

White-ice powder

On my aching soul and

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January 10, 2014

Copper and Diamond

by beeseeker

On the railway-edge of

The borders of town,

January’s watchman lowers

Industrial warehouse evening shutters

On a wet gone-along day.

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December 1, 2013

Must We ? – Monorhyme Poem

by beeseeker

Poetry challenge: Monoryhme.

Must we all be liars, shivering, afraid

In the beds we made?

The pasts we trade?

The present a pleasant, coffee-hit parade;

While constantly we fail to make the grade;

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November 26, 2013

The Blood

by beeseeker

The blood,

The hours

They spill

So quiet,

So quick.

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November 24, 2013

Some Illusions

by beeseeker

Winter dark drops its

Sharp-sudden chill

Like a heavy, studded cape

Across field, path and copse.

Moonrise wind grips

Our bones with

White-wolf fangs.

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October 31, 2013

Dark-Iron Tree

by beeseeker

North wolf-door belongs

To the Devil in songs;

The dark iron-tree

Born of dead-sky-sea

Fell through fire, slate

Thick boar-skull plate

And dragon-crest helm

Into the Albion magic realm.

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October 22, 2013

In the After

by beeseeker

What somebody said –

And, oh how we laughed –

Was the turning point’

The point of no-return,

Looked only like so much

Dust on the highway;

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September 22, 2013

Butterfly Dreams

by beeseeker

Pink, Prosecco procession sky

Tenderly unwraps protective

Tendrils of overnight mist

From the crowns of autumn-glory,

Turn-leafing oaks; liberates quiet,

Banner-winged butterfly dreams.

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September 20, 2013

Fist and Face

by beeseeker

Fist and face,

Colours blur

Behind drawn curtains

It’s hard to be sure.

I couldn’t keep your faith;

Your pointing finger hurt,

Every remorseless time.

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September 19, 2013

Of Us All

by beeseeker

Unseen, but somewhere

Between sky and earth

The sound of a blind, heavy plane –

Born of one,

Belonging to neither –

Grumbles at both.

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September 18, 2013

Moths …

by beeseeker

Moths and flames,

Owl’s night games:

Miles away on

Middle sea nights,

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September 15, 2013

Work Party

by beeseeker


Is at home, waiting for the forecast.

Big Boss, him say

“Shake that thing again, boy,

Till the monkey cries

“That’s enough!”

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September 9, 2013

Falling Down

by beeseeker

Hot sun pie squats on

Blood ‘n’ honey road

Across the brown,

Splintered river. Though

The ragged-smile thief keeps

Takin’ the joker’s words,

His fine house is still  falling down.

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September 6, 2013

So Far

by beeseeker

Crowded, sullen grey clouds

Bear silent witness:

Vacant market stalls,

Double-wet cobbles

Giving less than nothing back

And a patient young woman,

In quiet violet coat, with

Once-black collars and

A battered cello case

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August 25, 2013


by beeseeker

From the spinning
Circles that cross
Heaven and Hell,
Down the skies,
Between the branches,
The iron routes,
Across the leaves,
Between the rocks,
The weeds and brick dust;

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August 23, 2013

A Blacker Altar

by beeseeker

Man who don’t live here, man

Who worship at a blacker altar;

He say

“Time for change,

Need to modernise,

To organise,

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August 17, 2013


by beeseeker

Dragging grudge-fossil boned,
Battleship-anchor chain jointed carcass
In hopeless pursuit of sleep’s
Elusive dryad dancers;
Through the glades,
Along the rides
Of silent, silver-filtered
Low Moon Forestlands.

read more »

August 14, 2013

Ironbridge and Absent Friends

by beeseeker

Work-a-day sun high burnin’

Growin’ dull, respectful red and cider-cold;

Dawn’s melody slowly turnin’

Becoming familiar, restful, old.

Harvest hopes answered

Ripening to warm-honey gold:

Friends will always know each other –

If their stories be honestly told –

That distance and language matter not

When time and hearts be weighed and sold.