Dear girl on the groyne,
Forgive the forgeries upon my memory.
Forgive the feebleness of my firsthand.
Forgive the feeding of my frenzy.
Forgive the freneticism of my prose.
Take truth from the diction of my lens.
I trust you will grant me a fair hearing,
And offer me the clemency of purpose—
To once more capture or conquer
The presence of Iris herself in your greens.
Grant me a jury of judicious witness,
The pounding of the gavel as grace
For the crime of picturing the presence.
I bid the remainder of my fruitless fall.
Dear girl on the groyne,
Has your blacksmith forgotten you?
Left to entice waves at shutter speed,
Forged in flame,
Chiselled and tamed on Vulcan high.
Through his neglect has the time arrived
To render and share for all or none—
As Pandora, of beauty, of curiosity,
Doomed to open the box
For me and my eye.
Dear the man on the beach,
Do you have any sense of shame?
As if the still frame holds the truest face
The gods of our minds do not claim to fame,
But cower and quiver with a shout of shrill.
I beam bounty in the rays of the sun,
Watching the groyne creak and stutter
As the waves breach and mutter—
A voice of too great dread to utter.
I sense your presence, your song,
The siren’s call to prayer.
The screech of the zoom and focus,
Lulling and drawing a sailor of despair.
But it cannot be enough
To return the green to my grey.
It is but a mirror of Death,
For the true beauty lies beneath the skin.
As the waves crash,
And the wind howls,
And the flash—
Our moment in time, you and I—
A fleeting visit in a luminal light,
Between silence and soul,
Of a tune forgotten in the sands of us.
Yet for the sea, a distant whisper
Of a moment—
The opening of a story.
Was it a moment of theft?
A moment of true witness?
Good enough to frame?
Was I truly seen?
Or just a clutch for transcendence?
And still,
The tide remakes the shore.
The groyne groans.
The flash fades.
You carry the image.
I carry the knowing.
We both were framed.
We both were fire.
Apr 6, 2025
Apr 6, 2025 at 6:12 AM UTC
Warrior,
Wayward passage through mountains and creek
Sword bearing, brutalising
A bastion of medieval belief
Succulence of blood, yet a sour note
The progression of sapiens yet to pronounce
So how can this story unfold?
If we can't bear to turn the other cheek
Warrior,
Culture displaced by rage and fury
Interaction bequeathed to those who accept
A tantalising prospect, fading into black
An indent on iron and steel
Becoming myth and drowning in the lake.
Must we look no further than the garden?
The fields of a distant land, forgotten
And incensed at no hand to shake
Warrior,
We will not submit to isolation and ambiguity
But catch the flowers we've longed to chase
And meet the farmhand, an enigma no more
Determined to melt the hilt of metal
And join the wandering eye of family.
Oct 24, 2018
Oct 24, 2018 at 1:55 PM UTC
No time left for art
As the worker bees descend on the sun's rays
Dereliction of duty breeds insecurity
Allowing the conveyor belt to move
Our greatest hopes rely on the wallet
And not the gentle stroke of the brush
The sword of literature and design sheathed
As machines dominate our minds
Destiny of redemption lying in wait
As we inhale the sourness of greed
No fate too unfathomable for idealism
Perhaps no fate at all for pragmatism
Alas, no time left for art
The conveyor belt pushes forward
Transcending individual furnishing
And descending into the darkness of want
Complete injustice for need
Jun 9, 2018
Jun 9, 2018 at 10:47 AM UTC
Man's destiny to lie amongst the stars
Breeding new life
In a cosmic void
Never to settle
Never to cherish
As Gaia falls to neglect and injustice
Nature takes back control
Ejecting ego and narcissism
Scattering the Alpha beyond its borders
Unburdened of ownership
A distant sphere clouded by power
An enigma
Yet feeds the dreams of the future
The unpredictability of promise
Resting on the shoulders of capital
But it is not our first choice
As our neighbour engulfs our minds
So too does the idealism of today
Although alien in science
Familiar in emotion
It lies in wait
Waiting for them
An offering
Of potential
A war on inhospitably
Another chance
May 4, 2018
May 4, 2018 at 8:57 AM UTC
Cynicism is just a word
Disillusioned with the era of mankind
Ever seeing evil amongst the land
With tales of war and destruction
Without a handshake or hug to boot
Cynicism is just a word
Coiling the fabric of relationships and heartbreak
Burrowing further down the rabbit hole
Brimming with doubt and desire
Yet never dispelled
Cynicism is just a word
Portrayed by the immorality of office
Lies and Deceit become honesty
As love and passion, forbidden
And without the seed to grow
Cynicism is just a word
No
No
No
No
A way of life
May 2, 2018
May 2, 2018 at 6:57 AM UTC
Luna's light gleaning from the field
Deftly bestowing man's undoing
Consigned to ashes of folk
And left longing for creation
The age of the dog so tempered and cruel
Eternal beast of loathe and fear
Struck with the bow of Artemis
And damnation unto despair
From Nature's grasp this beast exhales
Mediating between life and sin
Transcending myth and legend
Betrayal of the highest calibre
Auriel
May 2, 2018
May 2, 2018 at 5:22 AM UTC