let's take a stroll through
flowing sheets as they waltz
with dappled sunlit melodies

reach out for crystal door handles
cool to touch, prismatic to eye
floorboards creak secrets

of years now lost to memory--
one day it shall rise again
in all its former glory*




●○
°

'


There are days 
in which songs are stifled 
or the throat hoarse and weary 
No more softly gliding notes - 
of raked leaves dance across 
a freshly littered lawn 
their butterfly wings 
hung up in expectant wait 
for another sunny day. 

There are nights 
that stars squander 
their luminescence 
on unappreciative lovers 
listlessly roaming by 
a moonlit shore 
their brilliant points 
curl up in the hope 
of another cloudless night. 

There are mornings 
that sizzle on the stove 
that sparkle sweet tangy-ness 
hands clasping across the table 
reliving life's love-filled moments 
the warmth of the kitchen 
reflects fervent esteem 
done up in various colours 
for each new morning.




____✒
●○
°

it's when you looked my way
and first took notice of me...
that is how I came to be.

we're glued to touch screens
to the point of distraction
trending expressions an
empty cask of envy and esteem
a digital farce, a silent scream

it's wearing one's heart on

a wearisome online sleeve
and we are one more than
we are able to cope with
or willing to comprehend
we are touched but numb*



●○
•

it's not like these
feelings are sitting
alone in an otherwise
empty refrigerator
nowhere else to go
waiting for a random
wanton wounding
surely, surely it'd
hurt just the same

'

row upon row
queued up queries
poppering poplars

outstretched limbs

vigilant sentinels
ever watchful of
fickle firmament

Meanwhile

***** bursting
with plaintive
prayers, spy




_ _ __ ✒
●○
°

~ a tribute to Emily and Brontëan style poetry, bit of a throwback from the late 80s.
'



The night has fallen around us

And the wind, it savagely blows;

A wicked mood is cast upon me,

One from which I cannot go.



Flickering orbs, on lamp posts loom,

casting forth a sickly yellow light;

A storm from deep within advances,

And still no hope for me to go.




Heavy leaded clouds drape the sky,

The paving just as dark below;

Such sight it fails to move me,

I cannot, and I will not, go.






____✒
●○

°

its good to see you 
back writing again ... 
you have a touch 

of something that 
makes your writing 
unique ... individual

I've never put 
my finger on it ... 
and would rather 
        not 
      know these days ... 

I enjoy the poetry ;) 
knowing too much 
would take off its shine.



_ _ __ ✒
●○
°

Oh, if I had a time machine
the backlog of things to do-
& work my way back to you*



●○
°

Much like Icarus, off they go; 
until condensation metes them 
reality's condescension:

Whose goals and objectives
are minute in life's greater scheme;
wings fashioned from floss harps-

Yet they soar each firmament;
nary a doubt would sway resolve;
no tempest or tumult could dissuade.

If  you chance upon a cloudless day
catch their echo of jubilant cries
and contemplate your turn to fly.

Forget
the balm of barometric exuberance.
This night
no longer young, dissipates.

Recall
a dewy welcome of sun-quaffed green.
Yesterdays
revive severed umbilical dreams.

Peruse
this present but fleeting acumen.
Today
ceases yet emerges again tomorrow.

Ignite
that kindling of autumnal reticence.
Perhaps
genial kindnesses shall spring.

these thoughts like refined gold,
after years of firing in a kiln,
and they're burning ever hotter
spilling onto sheets of paper
smouldering stains never fade
indelible impressions never old

cerebration, once spoken or written
would have corrupted pure thought
by the muddied hand of our articulation.

just like cynicism waxing cynical:
in that lone instant of release; its
value drops from lofty to mundane*



●○
°

bright dandelion's demise
creates global demand for
app letting us attend inter-
ment via livestream feed
in such inconsolate times
this shall fill all our need

Here, my fins have shown,
My gills have sprouted lungs.
I've muddled through

Each and every circumstance.

So now you see;
I am one such fish
that climbed a tree.

it has been said that poetry
is the straight and narrow road
to a woman's heart of hearts;

        but alas, for me

              it has been the escape pod
from that woman who once,
but no longer, has regard for me*





_ _ __✒
●○
°

arching
back and back again
from explosive exertion
electric impulses spilling

over, pulse
passed insulation
scrambling
thought and senses

blanking
out and out again
excessive expulsion
emotive impact stilling

inner resolve
past motivation
dissipating;
thoroughly quenches*



●○
°

would they be 
any less -dead-
if you spelt it D-E-D?




●○
°

amusing exchanges;
remind me to tell
you about it later!

'

Heart tattoos and hidden scars,
bumpy rides from Venus to Mars.  
Hunters and heinous jungles,
oceans and other bungles.
Who brings this beauty
amid our chasmic chaos?





_ _ ✒
○●
°

for love steadfast and true
as a plum tree that blooms
in winter, will wait for you

Into a new dark age
we go, marching,
careening headlong

[of soapbox poetry
there is no want
for many voices
loudly rail and rant]

the terrain of our
condition and that
of our experience
has changed over
year upon year of
progress that brings
us closer to the edge
of a generation that
lives on the horizon

itself

peering further on

yonder

to challenges invisible
to our yet untrained minds

so a new era begins
pioneering unexplored
vastnesses and
before unrecognised
darknesses

while on the remotest reaches
bright lights we yet have
to define and harness

they beckon
to our whetted appetite
for tomorrows.

[Into itself, beyond vast darkness,
a remote beacon
shall illumine our destiny.]





____✒

sometimes, indecisiveness
is just the wrongest decision
for anyone to ever make

sometimes we just have
to dive in and go with our gut
embracing whatever may result;

sometimes, apologies are enough
when things don't go your way
because it's time to do it ours

sometimes, getting first time right
is not what your life has shown
so, it's okay for me to have another go

it's only taken forty years for you
to realise you love me and be proud
perhaps another forty'll make you really care

your boomer ways are so busted
they don't work here and now
perhaps we need to find our own way

it won't break your ego to be supportive
respect is not earned but extended
perhaps you only need to trust & believe;

every time a child's heart breaks
a memory jolts this scathing parody
perhaps this curse can be broken still:

it doesn't take much to make it right*




_ _ __ ✒
●○
°

a thing lacking in beauty
finds nothing of joy, ever;
it's uncomeliness increases
and will never be celebrated
an unsightly recollection

passed on each generation,
so make the most of opportune
moments to leave a mark
whether in ugliness or beauty
kindle always, that inner spark*


●○
°

A barely audible creak greeted him
as he entered a still unfamiliar home.
Then a figure approached, step by step;
aged and wizened, unsteady at a walker.

Where it not for his gait and slouch,
he could have been any other.
Now, so much smaller, and frail;
not the monstrous terror of long ago.

There standing, a deer in the spotlight,
shaking off a child's phantom fright;
in the haze of ill-served remembrance;
realising that he loved his dad, all along.*



●○
°

I wash my face of an overly busy day
and your fingerprint on my wash basin mirror catches my eye
then it all comes back to me
how we spent the afternoon 
in each other's company
in a flurry of panic 
to conquer yet another deadline.
But that imprint seals an inwards part that becomes my final assessment
and without uttering another word
I conclude without doubt or reservation
that whatever you touch becomes part of my history, becomes a milestone in my life's journey and that part and more of me has been absorbed by all of you.

boy, you've been hiding long enough
guarded your heart and thought
left scarce a clue and when you do
lead to elsewhere; screening those
eyes that seek to spy on you; boy

one day, when all lay at your feet
they shall realise you had no real
privilege, special or otherwise
you were and are just like every
other creature that ever breathed

and this world is as it is, after all
you learn to hide & dodge & roll
each bruise, each strike, each scar
are silent witnesses to journeys far
be still; envy is no friend of yours

no sun to be found
all that's been familiar
now mixed around
find it quite peculiar
reinventing of us
matters we don't even discuss

makes you wanna disappear;
in many ways it's made clear,
others are lower than dirt to you;
silences are cold and not a few*



●○
°

Called a pain in the neck .
        always in the way
deaf in the ear
stubborn and strong willed--

It's time they realised
that's the way it's always been
and that's the way it'll always be!
          you call the shots
you were born breech

' 

Wake up 
talk back 
don't tell me 
what I lack, 
save up 
turn back 
bring along that 
fav'rite song 
don't tell me 
I've no social 
conscience 
wasting my 
poetic licence 
turn back 
to your real self 
your hunger for 
poetic justice 
look up 
the sky's 
still higher 
than your highest 
tower 
let down your 
flaxen locks 
your ivory walls 
are too slick 
come with me 
where the air 
is free 
and maybe, 
just maybe 
for once we'll agree.




_ __ ✒
●○
°

the early worm escapes the bird*

(and why not? the tortoise won
its race against a speedy hare)