.
The tender Willow leaves whoosh softly
                              with the fickle cherry blossom breeze

Painting the colour
                              these inevitable days ,
                              the fragrant scent
                                                      o­f springtide

No longer holding back
                              the dreams from deep in a heart
                                                               w­axing gibbous ,

the unopined moon
                              rose up over an unwritten poem

painting hues with words
                              shaping the shadows of its song
                              into a musically dappled tableau

stroked by the tickle of poignant whispers

                              waft from the veritable roguish winter nadir
                                              ― a latent and longing heart


         ― beneath
                              a sky full of stars
                                      
                 ­                                        ✩ ✩ ☼ ✩ ✩
                                                     *wild is the wind

Where are you, perfect piece of writing?
I read of you when I was a boy, long ago,
Naked youngsters on horseback, waiting,
Hidden in shadows at the meadow’s edge,
Then they go, aware of danger, scared,
Moonlight dancing upon their skin, cool,
Nightjars and bats swoop low, hunting moths,
And the youngsters ride, he observing her,
So beautiful to describe, and yet, you are gone,
Long ago, lost in my mind, yet I remember,
And I wonder, what you are, if you are,
And will I ever read you again, savour you?
Where are you, perfect piece of writing?

©Paul M Chafer 2016

Yet one smile more, departing, distant sun!
One mellow smile through the soft vapoury air,
Ere, o'er the frozen earth, the loud winds ran,
Or snows are sifted o'er the meadows bare.
One smile on the brown hills and naked trees,
And the dark rocks whose summer wreaths are cast,
And the blue Gentian flower, that, in the breeze,
Nods lonely, of her beauteous race the last.
Yet a few sunny days, in which the bee
Shall murmur by the hedge that skim the way,
The cricket chirp upon the russet lea,
And man delight to linger in thy ray.
Yet one rich smile, and we will try to bear
The piercing winter frost, and winds, and darkened air.

pool chairs.
eating emeralds
smoking insects
and becoming the locust
of the world.

party looking like bloodletting
indoor wallpaper rosyblurry violent cough
and vision up like a promised land
windy alcove and energized balcony chats

my fear of heights, lime nicotine
you'll save my anxiety taking me home
naked to the core underwear and bra
talking quietly as you drunk drive
lonely dragonfly intersection intertwined
fingers and again - those kingly emeralds