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As evening takes my hand




“For in your light I dream, as evening takes my hand”

Silently I find my thoughts illumined by your beauty;
In soft shimmers of dancing silhouettes
and patterns allowing breaths to sigh

Eyes peer into velvet skies,
visions set in motion eternally, find me
stranded within the confines of my heart…longing for you
Desperate for but a breeze, a movement of shadow,
a hope of wishes made upon the early arrival
of this crested view

Lonely among the sycamore, towering soldiers
lined at fielded boundaries, claiming wisdom
as they too reach for your smile

“And I yearn the knowledge of your distant view”

Do you think, do you feel, do you dream of me
from balconies high above hibiscus footpaths,
candle lit in passing moments which flicker…enchant

Drinking from a porcelain cup caressed by your hand,
a touch my body pleads, soft fingers on smooth surroundings,
ripples following moonlight sonatas,
days of spring blooms and whimsical showers,
flooding affections to wash over me…
carry me home

This moon, suspended in charcoal heavens
upon a beaded blanket of perfect pearls,
beckons our dreams in simultaneous fashion

*“Does your heart share this moon tonight…with me”

Dumbstruck that the news came
so impersonal, so matter of fact.
A text to say you were leaving.
Forever.

The usual spin on 'it's not you it's me'
Came my way, 'I need to find myself'
'I feel stifled' also got a shoe in.
I was impressed the text was not abbreviated.

When I think back people commented on how handsome
you were, was that a sly dig at me?
Whatever, it's passed now.
Time stands still for no man(so I'm told)

So time to stop grieving at your leaving
Begin anew, start breathing and thinking
for me. By the way thanks for retrieving
Your personal belongings from the flat.

People, you know friends and family
asked how I was, did I need anything?
I was stunned at their curiosity and
kindness, but, told them no.

Well, if you hear from him let us know,
if you want a chat we're here to listen
Oprah says break ups are like bereavements
No need to be brave for us honey.

They leave after getting their gossip
believing I was being stoic, grieving on the inside.
I wasn't, quite the opposite in fact
I felt liberated, unchained, free to be me.

That's what I did you see, became me
I had difficulty heaving your corpse into the garden
but those gym sessions you insisted I take paid off
As did the self defence class, one strike and down you went.

BTW Thanx for the txts, they is well good as alibis.

Tonight I have an appetite
I want to merge my body
With your soul, and become whole.

To converge upon each other and
discharge our urges until spent
reemerge, renewed, unhurt, purged.

With sleep slurred words
I tell you that I love you
You stroke my hair, and murmur

I love you too hummingbird
Content we fall asleep entwined
Our urge confirmed in love.

Just because I'm old and it takes
me an hour to get from A to B,
never judge me as you don't
know who I was the things in
life I have seen.

Age brings knowledge, its brings
arthritis in my left knee, you think
you have seen things son, Ive been
in wars seen **** you never want
to see.

I may look useless but thats the
secret you see, for the old were
young once we fought with knuckles
not like you ******* with guns
and knifes, thats the way of *******.

You may lift a finger to me, but ill just
grab it snap it back, lets see you give the
finger now ya little punk, ill break the
other two if you disrespect me.

I may be old but that doesn't make me
weak, I have knowledge and experience,
kid you just came out your *****, so
think when you speak to your elders.
for we may seem weak and frail but
we can teach you youngsters a thing or three

I lie awake in the waves of the wake you left me in
My lungs fill with water until my chest bursts open
My body is a lake again
I know I make mistakes but I can't fake like I can displace your skin
I sink deep with every crash
Let me in
Let me in
Let me in
Let me

Rows of rogue gladiators
Recaptured and crucified.
Muscles, grit and warriorship

Beyond that of any centurion,
Humbled, humiliated, spat upon
By the wine-greased gears of a

Machine the size of seized continents
And cultures crushed to crumbs
Within weeks -not centuries.

The stuff of contemporary tales and
Future feature films. Justice -not
Unlike poetry- is a purely man-made

Concept. But so very unlike the
Other; as frail in its mortality as
Man's own justless Self.

A heavy sigh escapes my lips
I need your seed to feed my need
Your taste still lingers on my lips
Your hands still feel moulded to my hips
Your absence has made the bed go cold.
Our heat has dissipated between the sheets
My greed for you makes me want
Your absence wants me to hasten your return.
I cannot call you, but I need you now.
Only you can help me regain feeling where
numbness resides, to feel the pressure of you
on me, in me. But you are not mine, I am not yours
We are both wanton ******.
I concede my place to second, no gold band upon
my hand, my conscience makes me short of breath
Indulgent, wanton, sumptuous gratification,
if thats all we are together, then fine, I accept.
But, I need you now, and always.

It's raining, it's storming
The tools are conforming
Society will be the death of me
Please pills, don't let me wake in the morning
It's sleeting, it's snowing
Their plastic smiles are glowing
Put your make up on, dignity gone
Make sure your "made in China" tag isn't showing
Its windy, the sun is shining!
Their ignorance is blinding!
No hope for mankind, I've lost my mind
There is no silver lining

This moment in time, about twelve
Years ago; a memory that keeps
Resurfacing these days.
I tell it over beers -not at all to brag-
To new friends and old
Aquaintances.
Self-employed, young and working
My hands to shreds to get by.
I had not eaten for days.

I'd drink litres of water
And bite my proud tongue every
Time I thought to ask my parents.
Again.
Already losing friends over debt,
I had exhausted all channels.
I'd keep my eyes on the street
Dreaming of coins.
Monday, nauseous with nothing
But myself to throw up.
In the barracks. Not a soul.
Fridge. I open it.
Boxes with lunches for thirty
Honest men. Wifemade leftovers.
Smell of homes.
I shut the fridge door.
On a shelf to my right,
A bag of buns long forgotten.
The mould only superficial.
Heaven underneath.

My eyes welled up as I ate.
I take no pride in managing to
Become that hungry
In a rich country during rich times.
But I will always remember
That I never touched
The boys' lunchboxes.

I wanted to
give you the world
but all I have
are these
two small hands
and they
only hold so much