Within the woods
a cluster of silver birch
stand proud among the pines and hazel and elms.
Below the gaze of the silver bark eyes
half hidden beneath the mulch and loam of ground
a toppled circle of stone can be found
to a kean eye
faded traces of blackened soil
painted by the death of a flame
It holds memories, if you listen,
of promises and dreams intimately whispered about the fire
when everything and the world died except you and I.
Still the night
muffled by a dark velvet sky
so animals may slumber
while others take silent flight.
An aphotic world
kept in secret from sight
shared only among hushes
in the envelope of a sigh.
I'll have to iron them I said for the fifth day in a row
eyeing the pile as it grows
stacked on a chair buried somewhere there under the creases and crumbled clothes
Er, I'll do it tomorrow,
black 'n strong 'n unsweetened as it ought to be
to kick a little something into you
and a drag of a smoke in a quiet place while there's still some morning silent grace like an embrace awake
under a pastel smudged dawn
as dew clings on to another moment forlorn in its dissipation
it gets you ready for the slow deliberate walk into another day
Wandered eye over weary scenes of contempt.
Lost to white noise of familiar content Everydays' freshness has long since been spent
Eyes search for pastures new and to reinvent.
Words set sail from the bay of her mouth
Traveling distance on waves meant for somewhere else
but they crashed upon his shore
and cast him away
She was oblivious to this.
later in a quiet cove
far from others
her concern asked of his silence.
How could he tell her he caught sight of her course?
had too much wine and such.
They drifted apart soon after.
That was years ago
Bah humbug it's Christmas
Time to panic and purchase extra ****
Time for adverts to hype kids to pester parents to scavenge shelves. Time for painful smiles to be painted and pretend all is well as kin folk gather.
Worry about bedding, and seating and gravy boats and tangled lights and sellotape and hiding spaces they want to sink into.
Time for the lonely to feel isolated and the happy to be oblivious.
Time for excess and ** ** **. Christmas songs relentless grinding through bones while millions go without.
Time for charity boxes to rattle because governments ignore.
Time for hangovers and walks of shame.
Devouring more than is needed. Consumed by the season's abused meaning.
Then once done and discarded we have January, Billuary ready to ****** up the spoils.
And the New Year foolishness of resolutions, and lose weight, get back in shape, sales and sales and holiday dreams until the old valentines rolls in, then Paddy's day and Easter, then pressure for the perfect beach ***. It goes on chipping away and chipping and chipping.
Yes I'm grumpy