Posthumous Pen

We sit, sharing your scotch and soul
renouncing the new, none nobility who
reside down the hall.
You colour me a story, about art reflecting life.
Where contrived painters, daub
their disjointed views, onto canvas’s
pinned to fragile walls of hope and hate.

Maybe I say.
But what about the unnoticed poets, who freed
their private thoughts
in black and white, pressed
between the pages new.
Works, where few,
seldom seem to go these days
until the writers been buried, deep
and in debt.

Then, up they rise
the new age, poetic apostle – airing
all those long faded, dusty words.
Bringing home to them, some posthumous
unheard of, literary award.

Well then, you smile.
It would seem that death does
have some rewards – so please before
you leave, my dear:

Pass me, my best poets pen…

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We Are Sorry

How the Seasons, always
they do separate
when comes the time is final.

To leave us only, with their absent faces
falling swirling
caught between the brittle branch
of man, and wind.

Red random now, are those petals poor,
through
thoughts of tears
that bury deep, beneath our hurried feet.
In blacks and whites of reason
whose distance far divides
in what tomorrow strives to bring.

And, when the mornings, sunlight smile,
diluted in it’s length of stay –
shall dim to fade.

We, will offer no more
understandings of this fight.

But in words of empty, shallow ending days
I hope you understand:

We are sorry for your loss.

Intolerance

You know not my history
yet you would destroy me with no prior
proceedings.

My skin matches not your chosen shade
so in the back streets of ignorance
you colour me grey.

I speak not the language of your birth
but I too had a mother and father who
spoke only to me of understanding.

Never would I communicate to you
of war – yet kill me – you would.

There is nothing within in my DNA
that marks me not of human being.

Though in this, self chosen ignorance
you bring your own hate to batter down

my innocent beliefs…

At The Waters Edge

I always imagined her
longed neck –
paddling frantically
high and low.
Caught on the horizons sidelines
searching for that safe place to go.

How well she finally
homed that landing
with her salt-laden, sunshine smile.
The corners
of her mouth angled at ease, a tributary
of waters now long ago laid so wasteful at rest.

That once, straight backed shape –
now eel-like, curved in composure
fragile in this, her new found
sanctuary of endings.
Of all her reasons, left unadorned
in the nothingness of such a lonely
biting conclusion…

Poppy
25th January 2014

 

Always

We don’t know yet
that you are dying – when it arrives
embracing me lost, I shall take this place
deeper to me bending our bodies

both
into day and night.
Sleep shall leave me shallow, remote
in it’s hum of peace-less antidotes.
Décor of early mornings
stirs the reminders – my fingers
holding back the clock
until that final tick tock, foretelling

the ending of our summers concluding
consciousness:

from that final letting go
– then you always

sleeping with your cold eyes shut…

Gentle In Black

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?

Re-Birth

I can never grow old
wrapped in my winters deep, deep cold.

The rains, you may consider them beautiful
yet know they are flawed,
shivering exposed
in their deadened gown.

Therefore I ask you, one and all
for your reasoned hush
allowing me my quarters sleep.

Never was it my intention
to die drowning –
deeper, darker substance:
shall always rise in me.

For am I not –
your ceaseless rebirth
of all seasons…

R.I.P

I could sit with you
for hours
nothing said –
just allowing the silence
to share our company.

I study your shades
hidden intense.
Waved like a worn torn
dirty flag.
No longer
the innocence of all my resting places

You stopped expressing
living in that urban apocalypse you
referred to as safe.
Kicking hard against
the compromised unravelling
of your once accomplished character.

I stand, searching one last time
for that us in the mirror.
Knowing, that the only face I see
will be mine –

I am leaving here
with only one wish – that you may
at long last; finally

Rest In Peace!

Names.

Wilderness – against the raw naked wind
days of futility – torn between
these empty lands of fortified migration.
Gravestones on mass, innocence fallen
senseless tracks
cut deep amid the whining grass.

Intense of red
the flowers of fury, placid folded.
Heads frayed, touch the ground
between the rows of sleeping.
Killing time, eyes closed
bare footed, waiting for their
mother, brother sister – lover!

Dust of battles long time wrestled.
Therefore, shall the young ones remain
in all but their name…?

Soft Brown Earth.

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.

Poppy ~xx~

1st May 2015