Your supple skin has slipped its mask
startled eyes stare absent upon the world
like a frozen head lit rabbit – quivering at the scene –
though still such innocence remains.
Lost passages chase the mutations of your life
tender surrounds your mislaid days.
Permit me to paint you fields of green, place orange
trees in your wake.
Let me broaden your wings –
determined to withstand the bitter storm.
Allow me to listen to you laugh: always!
White roses on a blue day positioned idly
in a golden pot I give to you.
A bracelet of change: oh, I think not –
how quickly I have become accustomed
to your childlike ways.
Your summer’s incandescence plays hide come
seek with me
I shall find you long before, you ever mislay yourself.
Sweet Daughter of never ageing life…
Poppy March 2013 ~xx~
We drink smoky tea – whilst rolling
our own slender ciggies.
All I can see through the smoke filled haze
are a couple of straggly red geraniums in their
bloated cracked plastic pots.
They crave for your attention –
A feeling I know like the back of my hand.
With cool calm precision: I weigh up all the odds
their wants are easier to solve than mine.
No competition: picking them up
I plunge them in the bin…
Today’s poem of the day on deadbeatspoets.eu
There you go floundering as per usual
like a decomposing jelly
spineless to the last –
Globules of thick gelatine amalgamate with the scarlet
blood of your veins –
That flamboyant colour never did do much for you –
your pallor is way too insipid.
Autopsies – inquests no one will ever know –
why you took your life tonight.
Someday: you’re gonna be the death of us all…
Farewell to autumns golden days
her death call has been rung
and all the birds did offer up,
in silence: not a sound.
As winter embellishes her deathly crown,
so icy fingers grip the throats,
of those who dare, to stop and gloat.
With dreams waylaid, I assemble
amid my countless, empty schemes.
I hear the jarring voices of those who grieve
they tumble down, like fallen fragile leaves
scattered piles, decaying blown –
to such sadness – I’ve long accustomed grown.
Oh, how I cried, over beauty’s flight
cold winter days; temperate not my sight.
I cannot stand to watch them leave, these proud
battle dressed men.
They stand so upright as though to caress the
heavens, on this grey unconscious day.
Khaki kit-bags plethora’s of profusion –
steadily marching onwards.
Designated destination still unknown!
How lonely they will fall
valiant to the last – emphatic one and all
on this, their ultimate ruination call.
Their life’s blood congealed pigmenting
this earth’s feudal terrain.
Sunken conical whites of eye –
eternally blinded to their final resting place.
Death amid some foreign vengeful soil –
declaring here; is where survival ends.
What worth existence now for Mothers, Daughters,
Sisters Wives, left to mourn such squander of life.
Will (you) tell them – at what point their man; a hero died?
You should have left them be – safe aside their loved ones.
I curse one thousand tidal malignancies despotic warmongers
amassed dead upon the shore.
For without my man – I am stitched undone.
The silences beyond his absence
numbs me –
Yes, I’ll sew, mend fix on labels
counts the seconds …
Only what – if: the next knock upon the door should be …?
What then – oh my Lord: what then!
Poppy March 2013
You didn’t gather me to you
in the half light –
of my early morning pain.
Memories surge like yeast swelling
on my new day thoughts.
Suffocating air – open windows
two people: with eyes afraid to face
Long distant night, as your breath rests
bitter on my lonely lips.
My fingers crawl like
spiders across the bed.
The levitating sun warm already up and on
I am thinking: what will be the words
that form on your tongue.
I must ambush the scream for I know
you’ll cut and run
Should I stay here till sunset
make it like we never met,
or simply wear my best –
Sunday frock: smile sweetly and mock the memory.
Oh, stuff – these foolish thoughts
into perfect scrambled eggs.
Who are you anyhow – you never
even told me your name.
Poppy 2013 ~xx~
Hands carried in empty pockets
like parcels wrapped:
bed and blankets
‘It’s fallen’ someone shouted,
no glittering fragments only a moving
panorama – all exactly as it was before –
yet somehow different.
Did my eyes ever avoid yours
Families are like the branches
of a river blackened – tapered
coloured candles: long ago extinguished.
The whitened faces of the Mothers
whispering in silence for their Sons all lost.
Naked bulbs reflect the light
we shall share this one last supper by
before – our final goodbye.
I knew from the cautious intake
of your breath – that soon
it would start: all over again.
For wars make prisoners of us all…
Poppy 2013 ~xx~
Red are the embers
that caress the
last night’s dream.
Upon the dawn
mellow, as my thoughts
meander inside my head.
Stored and boxed
kept for those rainy days
when my head is lonely –
laid upon my pillow.
You might ask me
if I am unhappy
I could reply –
for what is happiness but
a state of mind – when one’s a wake
I can hear you thinking:
she is lonely… if loneliness
be the fear of waking up
in an empty house, where
the only breath is mine
then yes I am: for ever guilty
of this soul destroying crime…
Poppy 2013 ~xx~
Two of my works feature in Barebacks new anthology unwrapped
My thanks to Peter the Editor for supporting my work.