Approaching low these frothy ancient walls
this wooden haul goes groan in hesitation
plays sunken sounds abaft of sodden planks
against wet, wind whipped sheets, slippery rope

Pilot eyes a narrow channel to this coffin's drift
a wheel in fate's hand, spun for all hands deck
one cold sea surge, after another, vaults over
sailor's gritting teeth with sea tears on pale cheeks

Fathoms drowned, as currents swell in rhythmic dance
Davy Jones awaits for those to decompose by chance
a gold doblón, a flipped up sueño, when maelstrom ends
drifting in lines of seaweed lime, or port of heart's content


-cec

I, too, have walked your tread
Loved, lost and strode in dread,
Felt the dark intrude my soul
Yet realised, that within.... the gold
For somewhere in this wondrous world
A kiss is thrown, a flag unfurled
Forgiveness, now, in purest form
Across thy shoulders, unadorned.

My love to you, Lori.
M.

Simian, she floats aloft
Till Syme, the thin black spider, coughed,
Blasting her in spiralled flight
Into the vortex of the night...
Into that web of dark intrigue
Where friend and foe, at once, do bleed.

A Merry Christmas to you, Old Chap.
M@Foxglove.Taranaki.NZ

Grief's canvas stretches wide and bare
A blank slate waiting, with no one to share
The brushstrokes of memories, once vibrant and bright
Now muted and faded, in the dark of night

The paint of pain, a deepening hue
A color that clings, to all I once knew
The strokes of sorrow, bold and free
A portrait of longing, for what used to be

The process of healing, a slow reveal
A layering of emotions, a complex feel
The colors of love, still shining through
A radiant glow, in all I once knew

The subject of my heart, a beloved face
A masterpiece of memories, in a sacred space
Though faded and worn, the love remains
A portrait of devotion, through joy and pains

The final brushstroke, a gentle touch
A whisper of acceptance, a heart that's too much
The portrait complete, a story told
A testament to love, that never grows old

In this masterpiece of grief and love
I find solace, sent from above
A reminder of what was, and what will be
A portrait of devotion, for all eternity.

How  fleeting the sandy grains that drop
through narrow remembering of yesterday
ephemeral flowers that graced a table vase
now dehydrated still life, garden scattered

How the vaporous past presumes the future
lensed by present reflection’s myopic trust
further receding into hammered glass icons
erected edifices to a longing life portrait

Unpredictable, unstable, a butterfly vortex
arising from a bottle of smokey possibility
constant in ever capricious choice and predictability
a mutual mutability of then and now’s  protean toss

-cec