Black tulips on the marbled floor
have no place here.
They remind others of how we existed
suitable only for that dark journey,
by those deemed more worthy,
under whose azure skies,
only their abodes could shimmer
for we can have no part .

Leaves mottled in their separateness
turn our seasons  
into days of lanquidity,
out stretched briars
tear at the stolen codex.
surmising exoteric warnings,
that magpies again steal,  
under whose inciting  night
can we wade this walkway.

Amongst the oyster shells,
and herring bones,
we drank our marigold wine,
well versed in starlight laughter
our future seemed twined.
I had always imagined your palour,
your etherealness wove a spell.
Your shadow cast until the dawn
forever nearing the shoreline.
Hope fell by the wayside
illumined you flurried
into the azure depths
a timeless steely rote
I recall.

The lightest touch brisks my skin,
lost in halcyon amongst the wild marigolds
and cornflowers, I play with laughter.
Azure skies roll into my being
like a Shire horse I am caught
in trusting servitude.
The bladed grass slivers
a serpentine's story
florescent in camouflage.
As a reborn sprite
I commend myself.

I am eager to express
This is not a playground,
nor a hawking station
adrift in a saline breeze.
I am not surprised at this reaction
personal pride foils this wanton randomness
toddling home,
I feel surrounded by poetry books
and before long I lie to myself
inventing that I have endless possibilities

There’s never enough reliance available
In safeguarding your bearded iris
from mellow night thieves
who sculpture dug holes
just for the fun of it

Progress is wasted here
the high street draped in uniform glass fronts
why shouldn't we play our bugle
to rebuke this shard ?
yet in a corner there's still a market street
refusing the final nail,
there's a shoe, bakery, cycle and jewellery shop,
in our hearts we will
wear  pride to headline the clarion call
and shed anger at being accused of,
carrying congress with the past
at our coffee stall.