Hidden Dreams

Who sleeps at night?
No one is sleeping
what was the dream – which you hid beneath your blanket?

My obscure adolescence I should award you all
then maybe nothing, beneath a fist of fallen trinkets.
I could rhyme you days of systematic landscapes
in words of risk-free poetry –
But you know me well, for it is not, within my margins
that here I shall stay.

You might think; and who am I to decline your view
that in knowing me –
you will come to recognise yourself.
Who can say outside that mockingbird
who sits to mimic:
your disused dazzling laughter.

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Surreal

Spirals of glistening shade, recline serenely dappled
in their morning wraith-like haze.

Amid your twisted sinews, I am most graciously calmed
while pristine elaborate skies; ground
my oath, steadfastly to you

Kissed in passing by all manner of such gracile splendour
flower heads sweeping stately, in their lightness of touch.
Reflecting deep –
of the imagery that scurries the waters edge
asking of no permission, to stand still this day
draped in adult perfection – floating on a child’s eye;
of far flung surrealist imagination.

September 21st 2014 ~xx~

Serengeti Skies.

You painted me backdrops of our life
drifting below the freedom of the Serengeti skies

You rolled me lush lazy landscapes
as far as the mind could ramble

You rewarded me, with the stillness of your silence
for there were no words –
that could ever come between us.

I played for you Vivaldi in all his seasons
you taught me how to be the meaning
of your unremitting spring.

I know your mouth
Like the way you know my name

I saw the mountains majestic in their rising
as we high, stepped the doubters, those
who would bring our love to ground.

We shall, go together; openly into this night
placing a flower each, disciplined upright;
under those large Serengeti skies.

Poppy September 16th 2014 ~xx~

The Colour Of Sleep

We picked white roses
then as we slowly became undone, we threw
them at the waters edge.

We divided watching them sail from our view
for when something is over – it is the only thing to do.

You exiled me long ago; into those awkward empty spaces
allowing the summers heat to blister my back
whilst I alone, shaped the snowman’s smile.

I feast thoughtfully,
upon the last days of our freshness
distilling the taste of our uncorked laughter.

It could be any afternoon; in my wool buttoned
cardigan, fastened against the cold moist air.
I am not for connecting – time is but a clock ticking itself alone.
Rye bread and water, slip to bless these arterial walls
before the night
comes to tell me, that this is the colour of sleep.

Poppy September 13th 2014 ~xx~

Melting Snowman

I can touch your body
witness your pain
yet your mind, still remains opaque.

Your eyes are empty, dressed in restless
clouds of grey
as once again, another days longed for plans
go tumbling, when you rise to wake.

I am sinking deeper
into your abyss of sadness
like a snowman fast melting itself to death.

You spend your time
in and out of reason , often stopping
for looks – to consider who I am.
Oh I know this is a match I shall lose
conceding check mate; having to give into you –
as I ask:
Did someone, forgot to write
our rules of fair engagement.

So
we sit and we play, your dark
becoming deeper – aware of nothing
outside the reality, that time
is not of ours to keep.

Poppy 2014 ~xx~