There is no one who can touch me
beyond my feelings, for that sleepless
red, gigantic moon.
Our love was not of art, metered
in verse, or painted in scenes that coloured
the watchful eye.
I will you, take flight –
not to return; taken by those suspect winds
that blow the chills through
No complaining – no intentions ever meant
no smiles, no voiceless regrets, now
long solitary reviving those times
on so many counted ifs!
You called me – your autumn
glazed in tones of fertile gold.
I replied, that autumn, always she comes to die
leaving those who once did touch her
brittle cold – buried deep as snow…
Last night in the long drawn out darkness
I finally realised –
what it means to be alone.
No one –
will ever understand me
as you once did.
Oh they try
how they try
with their well meaning
words of truism –
and yes, tomorrow
will always be another day.
But today, gentle in my black
I can only walk away when they say
they love me:
For what is love
without your understanding?
beneath my waiting feet.
I touch the vacant, once sanguine spaces
now lonely between my finger tips
I listen as you speak, softly “goodnight”
varied only by the rise – of her touch.
I can hear the voice of my own voice
needing to know
what made this
Then you are gone
shadowy about my vision.
The sweeps of light undo me
a sharp pain, pins
me to the earth.
I want to take the warmth from your hands
cradling it about my body –
but chances come
to go – of that I now, do know.
Yet still I can recall, from my memory of memories
how foolishly I let ours go…
the words going round in my head.
I wanted to tell you – often
how sad and depressed I was
not seeing you this time.
And yet I feel your distance – more than
these footsteps, that have come between us.
Before closing this letter, I taste
the malignant saliva of my haste.
Would that I could
forget your face, wipe unsoiled all taste.
Blameless are they not;
those who drink deep of their disgrace.
I trespass stupidly, amid
the fragments of remnants censured
of all blame
Yet still these white vacant pages
make me realise, that
I should have written sooner …
Not for her this slam of day
against those, violet rays that talk
of calmer reason.
For when she hears the trees, who dare
to catch the breeze, then laugh with ease,
she sets aside her mind to bleed.
For all about each season – behind
the windows curtained glass
she watch’s, bridled not for hope
of long, beyond forgotten –
then blown to scatter distant brown
with toss of hand
amid that bed of earth, still warm.
Then all about did listen
as the sun set down her light to drop.
Quietly setting over them; as the day
dropped to her knees.
1st May 2015
The lengthening spread of night
sinks my vessels filled
the lights, unhappy properties
draw me colour blinded to their sleep.
With wonder – when he stops to ask;
‘that I am exhausted’.
Then let it not come, by stranger’s mouth
For I should listen only, to sounds lighter
than the wind,
dancing in the dry cotton grass.
April 28th 2015
When it is my time to leave
how much of myself shall I take?
Lighter the head of memories
or heavy the suitcase filled of relics stacked.
Do I go in autumn just before
the winter storms
lay barren my North, bearing
down amid the gloomy leaf less trees.
Or should I choose
spring just before the summer
when orange blossom still prevails
the early morning air.
Such is this weak annihilation of mine
observed through eyes now blocked to light.
When all, but a slender residue of calm,
and you might cry:
for knowing that I’ll not return
side by side, on the lawn
next to the pond
that ran down to your house.
Sitting there together, subversive
in our views – yet never lovers not
to each other.
We wanted to live, see the world
stepping far away from our backgrounds
Suicide, births marriages, and deaths
unremitting seasons –
Side stepping the foot paths
that led good men to their destiny.
how the unearthly bonds of our singular
would one day bring us back as one…
April 11th 2014
They will never get me mended
put back together again – not completely!
I’ve tried, been to hell and back
and all roads in between that thing
they call reality.
Not sure how,
why or when the wheels
first mounted the pavement.
If honest, I cannot even be troubled
to think about it anymore.
What is there to be gained from being sane?
I’m still me – in name at least.
I pay the bills; feed those who need to be fed
still cry in all the immoral places.
Left is left – right is right
Day is light, and night is – completely dark!
April 6th 2015
There is gentle in her body’s poise
in all speaks and all she moves.
Her turn of head gives pleasure guilty.
Smile my way – if just this once
be tender in your guarded shape of love.
I’m not asking of your fire
for burning your image, deep into my brain.
Not for the seasons blessed, fleshed into your words
allow me if only – your inquisitive admirer be.
Bend me outwards at the footsteps of pace
close, all doors,
once your loves makes hasty tracks
scold me ten fold – time for time
Yet tell me as your daughter
if you please
That once I raised the sun to vision your view:
Even on your blackest day of pain
April 4th 2015