Hard brittle lights.
Faked without heat.
Hurts eyes driving
home words. Finger
sharp pointed pixels.
crack sleep little.
cold and floored
glow of heat
calls

me giddy and on
gentle pads I secure
myself to a rapture of
rest and a heart beat
be love
be love
be love
to fall away again
under waxy light
slowly burnishing
my analogue world of
slumbers

shaken by distant call to rest

glare of harsh blue
white is softened by
day. heat lifts
and maintains
fight back through
bitter coffee.
digits are soft coloured
and in laundered whisper of
emotional thrill
as fortune and dreams
call out softly
let
us
g
o

while mourning.
gently the throb
of visceral flow
is reminder of
clocks.

pulse counts the
beats until
the bell is rung
calling the spirit
from it's case.

movement stops.
hands point two
and eleven.
dial painted.

one last turn of key .
in hope.
then questioning
if it really was
his time.

wrenched into the space between
vows
gags preserve a truce

split sheets make bridles
reigns are dropped

mustangs are not so stilled

heads up. clouds.
surely one is
horse shaped.
somewhere
to
hurdle the blue conjoined
sky to earth to shore to sky

freedom is.
chains but proof,
in their noise and tension,
of liberties intention

claimed for common benefits
deeds are solemn
herds are acquiescence

royalty is made amongst them
prerogative in the places
where fidelity has made a
no man's land

emptied limbs creak

slowly unburdened
there is no lifting
of palms

notes left of sweet
sensations
dances
fruit
habitations

move on the wind

In lee of the Ash
'twould be me
hiding in trees.
bare arms held high.
raw from rubbing the bark.

breath a ragged whisper,
the language of dead leaves

lingnen umbrellas once shadow makers now of the dark

encased in abandoned shade,
stability is a fabled illusion

colours of autumn fade.
forms become skeleton.
dirt is fed.

earthen daydreams corrode,
fertile nightmares,
demons grow in place of daisies

their eyes are hungry in a barren place until the ash buds swell

dried petals melt to gravity,
possess my naked frame

under the low sun after dewy drapes lift.
green blessings distract

undulating bodies,
supplication of sweet release

'tis what demon desires and to have must part with pomegranate

the seeds of damnation,
lament dearest Persephone,
your cry shall reign all dominion

a Bentham call for the utility that the wood be of seasons

colors of autumn fade,
forms become skeleton,
hello death's wintry mistress

colours of spring wait.
Morbid redress

leaving hulled seed a heliotrope with skying ambition.
Brethren in tumultuous glory.

Bask eternal in tumultuous glory.

scraping away tack
marks of your photos
leaves
black on my fingers .

like old newspapers .

something of
yesterday
marking today
to
mess up tomorrow .

Prose.
EXPLORE
WRITE
Poetry & Free Verse
Written by MR in portal Poetry & Free Verse
4 minutes ago
o p aque eye
milky eye . dead to light .

blinks away a hair

strand lands again

to frustrate

reflex flicks the
lid perfunctory
as ice melt

a refreshed sheen
for a glassy eye
a wave in air

the ice melts
there's a little
more liquid

substance shifts
unseen
drips drop

a meandering we will go
like winds hunting sails
the after love love glow.
stops. two hearts it fails

strangled on it's own
cord cursed stillborn
blood wetted down
less hair more devil's horn

shoebox size coffin
barers slapping hands
lest grief is forgotten
loves fire buried in sands

there is pain but absent
blame: dead love is nascent.

there is miasma outside.
in here is full of misery.

i am going to open the window.

will there be a current?

there is no hurt that takes
more than is surrendered.

it is subjective. perhaps
it is this that makes
discord:

one does not understand.
other cannot accept knowing.

pain remains in place
and so makes pains
of hope(?)
in the other.

such passion is living
and any death
is in, and not of,
a person.

temples stand in places.

outsides
exalts
from the base to the
untouched firmament

inside
exhausts
ideologies
from lungs wetted
by the blood of saviours

the ground is moved
by worms
into mounds of it's castes

moving and tripping gently to your side
my face oblique, sweetly set, decries.
direction set by pointing intention
if there's passion it's of my declension.

meekly set and paler than a daisy
defenseless some man incited tupour,lazy.
you are easily rolled by part made bold
absent lust . closed. resist ****** cold

barriers hold until scent comeliness
my gentle sincere words do espress
fluid accompaniment of hands
brought together applause in lands

where acorns ride on veiny rods
and lovers smother the others sobs

i wonder lonely
with a frown
long faced pony
in a dressing gown.

some are curious
as to where to buy
something so spurious
for four legged guy.

i say to them "trot on".
donkeys,this time of day,
should be braying upon
their pews made of hay.

feeling a bit shagged,
from crossing the gorge,
to avoid the old nag
i have a pint in the george

lactic on the tongue
numbing at instance
of longing.

drawing lightness
of me lost to erosion
of this life.

All in Daylight.

somnambulent
in the garden

nodding at the
poppy heart

falling into dilated
eyes.

a journey rounded
by a dream....

of chasing white
monkeys' tails

you dared.
the night ruby.
tight furled and guarded
by fangs lined
green and brown.

you came.
a delight in
in light unwrapping
moistened by
drops of a
dawn that rolled
your curves.
shimmered in
your folds.

you held.
on my
darkening bleed, spoilt
and drying hard,
on your soft
vermilions.
*****, holding
you too tight.

it is in the system code
give a **** : best I did
was reboot the core
in the program, man

not a virus or hacked control
'cause I am my need disease
big system stream
in the program, man

kinking with craze for energy
self sourced electricity.
warning lights and crashes
in the program, man

flash amber glows lit my kin
flagging errors on lines
of code need syntax
in the program, man

habit loop IF, THEN
we recall and a script is
mine for some steps
in the program, man

not love lost
just how you felt it.
in black blood.

liver restored.
choice pound of
flesh brother.

careless rain
wipes away
dust

absent hands
leave garden
wild

poison air
deprives
life
youngest first

no washing that

noise and confusion front
centre of pure light
rolling grey mass obscures
it
mills white into frequency
that has peaks touching
lows
it
steals night pricked into
spectral stall spaced out
on god labels and sci-
gobbledygook
so
dreamers can dance
fragile hearts into hope
lies

grey is white
rainbows are gold
names are cures

passionates lean hard
fragments that lore's
peddle as jigsaws
boxed with image
of whole

complex puzzles rattle
the futility of :

cover
whole and virtuous

open
inside is the same : broken

fix
me


(no bits missing
the grey is my underside)

frustration until
completion then
frustration with
maintenance of
completeness

(Back in the box)

reality reels results in
fondness for familiarity
played on
simpler puzzles

when we knew the shapes
by touch
and we put ourselves together
in the dark

cankered by self
centred bullseyes.
target
for arrows fledged
from dead wings.

love could be
nylon now.
sores do not
care if
instruments are false.

strung between the
hurt now and
some notion
of then words
flow.

do they salve
or do they
sear the flesh
stretched
weeping
consequence
of loving.

words if to sear
should find ear
who made one so ...
strange.

words if to salve
should not halve
loves joy into
loss.

love is purposed . true
to words that are not used
as whips or leashes.

no fertile ground
in words bound
to regret.

i hear my hurt
from the inside
wailing and weeping
on the outside
suffering splits me
so that sound
escapes

candle flicks orange
selflessly spits
and pop: pale pips

when

juice trapped in petroleum
wax hits heat and fires to
make mists in light

a cotton thread

( points vapours )

stutter the
dark:
yellow

the lights lets me see

fractions of tar smell
sweetly pink in the
Valor heater.
pressed from thin metal
a bomb
damped by ribbon squab

(broad vapours)

starve the
cold:
red air

all weaves shrink as the
smoke, a fake evaporate,
journey's to the clouds

oh robin in the tree
one beady eye on me

the other
a bother

for the black bug
wings wrapped snug
on leaf of the Lilac tree
under which we drink our tea

to my eldest I turn
and a story is born

dear child keep strong
sing loud and long
yon robin has proud chest
for he sang without rest
to save a princess

'Dad!!!!!!!!'


It's true. for once the bird was dour
lived in Royal ground. Feathers brown
singing to please the princesses crowd
until. Horror. Illness. Proclaimed loud
'Princess was dying having lost
love for life broken hearts cost'

little bird he loved with all his heart
and by her window a song did start

inside in a week sickly state
to her beat did the tune relate
and morbid promise was made
that it was to be her final refrain.

the bird sang through the day
and through the night. stay
by her and steady stave
no food or drink did it crave.

For on that wooden sill
a ***** splinter a thorn ill
pressed ever closer into chest
of that songbird that took no rest.

slowly the blood began to seep
and single flow set to creep
along the ledge up to edge
of drop onto sickly hair
shocking the poorly girl sitting there

her eyes filled with pity for another
that song of love from red chest cover
over fidelity, hope, courage and caring
that lifted her to desire life sharing.

A rush of her own blood carried her
to pull that splinter from the feather
stained forever red
for a life, by love, led.


'Load a Bllx Dad'

dry insides that
rasp on
strained forgiveness.

augered goodness
residues cake that
is bitter.

changes are not
all the same.

pressure makes
liquid out of nothing.
screws force liquid
out.

one magic the
other tragic
and spent

little boy
makes trouble
in Peaceful sea


little girl watching
awaiting her turn

watching the rolling, noisy, salty surf
running in fast, halting and in reverse
here and partly of the revolving Earth.
thoughts began to challenge and to curse

the simple it's physically notion
just water following rules to make foam.
even consider a whole teeming ocean
with sky above so life settles and roams

still no. that in it, round it and, all known
are much more than with senses we see.
read. these words by that sea are sown.
hence ,all in it and, those that sense it be

connected by the benign dependence
of coincidence in circumstance.

striking out to walk at night.
noise to move out the shadows.
my place to lurk

the wrapping of dark treacle's
out of me brings cold to
trap the meek.

not brightness blinding but
insidiously denying essence.
abusing the numb.

later in reflection holding
husks . the shadows creep
into me as remorse.

whorl and pool. pale

light circulate around

lamps to build a world

between

the black buildings


street streaked,blacker,
by tar macadam
are flavour made as lit
- whole oranges
and, modern blasts of blue
white fruits.


blobs both.


Old black thick oil
bitumen based rock.
lighter the other.
made of energy
bouncing into
eyes as a scene.


division is round
at edge of energy
and straight painted
line. demarcation:
my side your side
for vehicles and,
kiddies games.


by day this place is singularly lit

and shadows are directed

one way

but now under street-lights

the shadows play

you're angry,
i see.
you say
i'm danger.

i see you
carrying stones
i hear ground
beat with
sticks.

i have pain.
you are
sick.

I am the
rainbow
fish.

I fly
from
the
ocean,
conquer
sky.

Of land or
sea
my promise.
a wish.

pax pacis

caught you
in the sky today
a smudge of mirror

I am lit by munlight

gritty mud shifts
old stub of
coil

fused into a
tube ridged
like a worm

neglected sheds
of utility
futile in dirt

plastic band
white wipes
clean

it unlike the
iron
refuses to
favour soil

cup me in some sweet condolences
leave me dusted in saccharin
after honey licks

there on your lips
autumn burst fruits
and
bruises

my blush of knowing
too much
my rush of tasting
enough
to be hooked on your liqueur

lips. granulated resistance
spent.
echo.
fullness empties,
echo.
post
coitus tristesse,
echo

sugar the fruits'
echo

swaying in the wind

flowers are keeping the time

bells and trumpets play

I
compare the space left
to radiance that blinds

look on and know just
how dark could a space
become

faith in eye grabs hard
at the residual lumens.
ghosts.

time stuck in a flash
of constellations
colliding

YOU

wandering is nothing but
distracting.
the pace is rhythm
making and recalling
music and verse until

eyes focus on juxtaposed
man with club foot and
pan bottom black eyes.

discordant dismissed song

they're not always there
, breaking,
when wandering .
the percussion stops
in crowds . Revery then
a swarm consciousness
of street starlings
part one mind part
mindful of pickpocketing
magpies

one can always leave
spin the record back
and step on as just
you.
wandering about in
rhythms is a mercy
from deadlines.
a must have time
to pace to
when you have no
destination.

dancing feet of
a tiger
tapped explanation
to fretful sort.

that joy cannot be
bound, owned or
traded for misery.

it waved a faintly
striped tail
and stepped out
on someone else's
tune.

Grrrrrr

clamour push and deny the rust stain
left as spots on nylon thin throws

no light is un-greyed in passing
to fail ignition . somewhere
sinoatrial spark kicks the pump
over
again
again
again

until even that like waxed diesel
instead of vital fuel will impel
only a

thud

and then wooden and thin as a
peg. round headed and spindles
you are boxed for
the
Fire

something about a little street and pigeons

past the road crossed by

pigeons driven by fear

of hurrying commuters

or hunger for fast food

bags

is the last shop



It's forever open door sentried

by wine soaked owner

unsteady on the

edge



pavement and narrow

road bottlenecks so

that with some relief

customers hurry by



Yet. So like the

books he sells

there is no world

until the page is

turned



that door frames

a world of change

that a simple word

unlocks



instead people curse

the pigeons

and worry

about clocks

shouting

departure times

let gentle kisses
change your shape.
smooth words
are but tender
tiny cuts unfelt
until you bathe.

let's bathe together.

you draw from a hot
salty spigot
determined that hurt
forms and is desire.
sculpture cuts away
there is noise and
loss.

cooling to blood.
I will enter water.
see I to have cut.
small bits of me
mix with you.

no pain.

the potter lifts
out of mud.
gentle fingers
persuade and
shape beauty
with utility .

no loss.

now, let's colour,
in a slow
hardening
over fire.

gently she pushes
in that shy way

"everything you had
has been taken
today"

pain is absent
in this flow

somethings 'tis
just to be let
go

patiently the
touched rested

stoics to be
truly tested

holding dear
to abate fear

faith

that wreaths
return
on
Styxs tidal water.

butterfly
leaves dead wings
early fall

brick pointer
arrows empty sky
St. Somebody

man limps across
busy street the cars stop
standing for attention

rawed flesh flies
to filthy beat of
the leather changer

gag metes justice
jean cotton knaw
crack of debater

mage owed silver
shillings for fake
dab at blood on
dent of his chin

Bob tours patois
scrawls with a finger
awed
by the give in her
broken skin

stud kept for she
his
promise the bearer note

together
rug is folded
picnic over

sure, *****
strut a pace
with the
subtle
redirection
of the
head.

spurs sharp
and maiden
blooded.
plumed fine.
head and chin
the red of
warrior men.

when set
to crow. cooped
low, this beast,
beak pushed
against
farmyard feet.
no.

hurling stones
from the shore
at something that
was never
there before

it's making from
our collision
that sparked the heat
and giddy
confusion

though we spent
time and ourselves
taking dreams
down from dusty
shelves

love remains the arc
of the journey not in
the sinking when you
hurt me

lean ******* the lever
precise on flat

fulcrum a point
on Shiatsu chart

lines are the crack
you use to break

into the heart of
hurt. medicant.

your hands' instincts
the cure

lift and tilt the screaming jig
clip of hair to red spot.
rip cloth

make tip in hit snick hook's
barb it bit flesh on a tug.
bait comes

(stage cloth raises high
applause covers
opening)

old hit picks at scab
grey edge to living pink
irresistible

split is spat wet . it is in
virus will make want
charisma
phantom
orgasma

(cloth in stages parts
curtains
trained spotting)

tulip heads droop
low and before
petals drop
in a sickly
wind swing.
knell their
own end.

drawing in
final air the
bulb swells
a Summer
long.
It's Spring demise
but a charm
to entice
single flowers
to bloom bright
and, in colour,
ring out their
nights.

urban air
poisoned with oil from
refined war

fear or shame that
makes the mask wearer