A solemn Moon, a solitary tear
amidst fire-fly flecks of stars,
looked east to ink-blue light rising and spoke:
Sun, do not rise today
for love is lost
and your warmth will sear the tears on our face
Sun, do not rise today
time is frozen
in the moonlit shades of night
Sun, do not rise today
light cannot lift this morn
from its sorrow and lament
Sun, do not rise today
leave us be
let all be
Sun, do not move time on
let us lay in lovers arms-unmoving
seized eternal in this moment
Sun, do not rise today
nor raise the voices of hope or joy
for a child is gone, a mother stolen
Souls are shaken
from their earthly care – born
to the wind and flown
Sun, do not rise today
your time will come
when we may turn to you again
For warmth, for comfort
for reprieve – but ‘til then
do not cast our shadows long and drawn across the land
Sun, do not rise
as we catch our trains
and walk desolate to offices and schools
Let our tears fall ‘til faded,
leaving just the stars
to illuminate the night.
May 30, 2017
May 30, 2017 at 7:58 AM UTC
for all my life I’ve striven hard
not to be confined
by iambic pentameter
nor other metered rhyme
May 19, 2017
May 19, 2017 at 10:11 AM UTC
You can leave wires alone, hidden away
and they still get tangled, tied up in knots,
twisted around in angry coils, like a pit-full
of leathery snakes. Everything appears to work still fine
and it looks nice and shiny, like it always did.
Dusted off every week. Our visitors admire it,
and family don’t notice it anymore.
It’s part of the furniture, there every day;
useful and pleasurable though it is, in its way,
if it broke, it would be replaced. So why,
though untouched in anyway
are the wires in such a state?
So, moving the furniture, you try
and release them. You try and follow the trail,
from where they used to run straight and true,
to where they now entwine and choke
each other with their tiny knotted fists of flex.
And you think *this is beyond the laws of physics,
That an inanimate object can come alive
With such malevolence.*
You look for explanation, such as
spectral interference or evil black-eyed
midnight fairies with sharp pin-teeth,
who, in glinting moonlight, spin and prance,
Whirling the wires around, as if in some frenzied pagan dance.
Rather, though, (and you know) it’s the small
unseen twists of time that, uncorrected in neglect,
have snared the wires in their own catch net.
However did it come to this? I ask her,
and she looks at me, as if
I shouldn’t be surprised. For so
it happens every time.
Apr 20, 2017
Apr 20, 2017 at 8:31 AM UTC
The slipping plates of the planet
Grind ceaselessly against each other
In terse and violent tension.
Neighbour against neighbour,
Conflicting caress of rock against rock
Until one gives.
The tension explodes.
Little Boy ten thousand fold
Wrecks vast destruction across
Land, sea, village and city
With indifference
For whoever
Whatever
Wherever.
What feeling, what emotion,
Crashes through the landscape,
Dashing communities, families,
Mother and child, father and friends,
School children, colleagues,
Shopkeepers and trades?
Picked up and tossed over and under
By wave after wave, dragging crushing debris.
A black lascivious tongue
Unfurling its fury, lashing
The skin of humanity
From the face of the Earth.
*(And what do I care of the destruction?
Of all the pain it leaves behind?
Of the ever-rising body count
Upon a never-ceasing tide.
I am on my way, surfing
The fury, feeling all powerful
And magnificent, but all the time
Controlled and ruined).*
Apr 17, 2017
Apr 17, 2017 at 1:49 AM UTC
Forced trust breeds jealousies
and in loving shells grow enemies
Apr 12, 2017
Apr 12, 2017 at 10:29 AM UTC
I measure out my days in witticisms that fall
As freely and pointlessly as leaves in autumn,
My few amongst the countless that fall anonymously
Along streets, in parks, in gardens
Filling gutters, blocking drains, making homes
For hedgehogs, rats and beetles.
Things we **** with cars, poisons and heels.
Apr 7, 2017
Apr 7, 2017 at 3:26 AM UTC
Have I been here before,
Under the limes?
The brush sweeps sighs
Behind me, wooden footfalls echo
Into the density of crushed
Red velvet seating.
Plinkerty-plank-plonk,
Boney tendrils find a drunk man
Blundering his way home,
Gone midnight, wet and sorry.
The audience having left, amused
But ultimately dissatisfied.
The limes ghost across the blackened stage.
The black piano grins, then laughs,
A breathless wind across the strings at last,
For I have left the building.
Apr 6, 2017
Apr 6, 2017 at 3:01 AM UTC
here it comes
here it comes
creeping up on me
creeping stealthily
unseen
unheard
unspoken
to break the world
and leave me broken
birds fall from the sky
their feathers frozen
useless wings grounded
i want to cry
but my eyes are dry
and my chest hollow
but for a gnarly stone
heavy
and
cold
it wont bleed
not for you
nor me
Apr 3, 2017
Apr 3, 2017 at 9:02 AM UTC
On the sixth day of the month,
Being the fifth one of the year,
We congregate to celebrate
The wedding of the year.
Not a week too late (that was Wills and Kate)
But our own dear Phil and Gemma,
Who, in ceremony, have duly vowed
To be as one forever.
But the two of you may be asking,
On this happiest of days,
"How do we keep romance alive?
O tell us of the ways!"
Well, the secrets of a happy marriage,
They are a secret still.
But these few tips may bring success,
So heed them if you will.
If you fall out in bitter temper
Don't go to bed at night.
It will be far worse come morning,
So just stay up and fight.
A man should keep romance in bloom
With flowers and gifts that gleam,
And also, most importantly,
Keep his internet history clean.
A woman should pay attention
To those little things that matter,
Like vacuuming and ironing,
And when football's on, don't chatter!
And if your husband's eye might stray
Upon a lady passing by,
Why, 'tis only to remind him
That you're much fairer to the eye.
So it is said by those that know,
With certainty undiminished,
That two in love are incomplete,
Until, in marriage, they are finished.
Apr 1, 2017
Apr 1, 2017 at 5:49 AM UTC
"Excuse me, may I take this seat, please?"
No. Go away.
I came here to get some peace.
I didn't say this of course.
Mar 31, 2017
Mar 31, 2017 at 11:03 AM UTC