Sometimes I think my hand and heart come together in dark corners to have hushed conversations about what to write.
Brain intercedes to tell them they can't do it without him and he should always be consulted.
Heart and hand run away when brain's not looking and write the first thing they can think of.
Full of themselves, they saunter back into the room to show brain their work and stare upon the page in dismay - this was not what they had imagined!! Somehow the meaning has got lost in translation.
Brain looks on smugly 'told you. You should've consulted me'
Hand and heart are suitably chastised.

She reminds me of a foxglove
Eyes drawn to her like steel to a magnet
She reminds me of a foxglove
Her sweet perfume an olfactory pleasure
She reminds me of a foxglove
Tall, slender, beautiful
And just as poisonous

The impervious nature
of humankind littering the beaches,
painting a repugnant scene
upon a breathtaking canvas.
Paper wins again.

First there was the earth
Then there was me
Then there was you.
Everything else was just a blink of the eye of history.

She gathered her hopes
And dreams,
Her loves
And desires,
Her wants
And needs
And fashioned them into a shawl of the finest silk
That they should keep her warm
Without weighing her down.

He loves women
As much as he loves
Himself
Promising her the moon
While handing the stars to another.
A consumate poker player
They never see the truth
Hidden within his eyes.
If he kept one eye on the table
He'd see she has upped the ante
And her heart's at risk

My pen is untrained
Uncultured
And uncouth.
If you came to read ballet
You'll be sorely disappointed.
It's more the dance
Of a young colt
Still trying to find her feet
Moving to a staccato rhythm.
No mellifluous flow
But a drum
With a dodgy beat

In a waking dream
The stuff of nightmares
Slip past the guard
Like a swarm of insects
Pillaging the skies
Threatening to block the sun.
Turing the seas red
With the blood
Of unborn joy
And shaking the earth
To it's core
With the misery
Of a combined population.

Mutinous clouds like a suit of armour
Obscuring views.
Crescent moon finds a *****
And lifts the mood.

Bury my smile
And silence my laugh.
Let my chin drop
And my shoulders sag.
In the absence of company
I remove the vestiges
Of the person they think I am.
The last of the great pretenders.

A short stroll up a lonely lane
Wild flowers filling the hedges,
Romancing our eyes
And flirting with our noses.
Inquisitive cows
Leaning over rickety gates
To better inspect us interlopers.
A broken path,
Crevices straining to trip us up.
A five minute dander for us.
A dangerous adventure in unexplored territories for them.

Her tongue like a whip.
Her words lashed
Across my back
Leaving weeping welts of pain.
A balm administered
To ease the hurt
But the memory
Lingers.
Spilt wine
Can't be put back into the bottle.

Hands
Once so big
That spanned across my back
And kept me safe.
That stroked my hair
To ease my childhood pains.
That clasped my small hand
To protect me from harm.
Those hands like giant's
That held me as a newborn,
Now withered
And aged,
Ravaged by the passing of time,
Still hold my heart

If I could write
Like you
I would have
Kings at
My feet
And would
Rule the world
With my tongue

The wind carries a whisper
Of your love.
Lucky wind.

Landed
With a voice
That only
A Mother
Could love,
Let
My poetry
Sing to you
In a way
I never could

Her words
Rip across the page
Like bullets
Trailing blood
And broken promises.
Yet there is
Something
Disturbingly peaceful
About unleashing
Her anger

It's a strange old beat
And a weird old track
But I'll move my feet
If your hand's on my back.
You bring the drums
And I'll bring the bass
And everything else
Falls into place.
Forever glad we got the chance
To lie in each other's arms
And dance.

Love is not orchestrated,
It's a live session
Full of raw hope
And risky notes
Where mistakes are made
And harmonies
Can fall short
But the music
Is all the sweeter
Because of it.

A torrent of emotion
Breaks forth.
A reservoir of tears
Pouring out like
A force of nature
Melting bones
And burning flesh
Scorching souls
And shattering hearts.
Leaving empty vessels
Like ragdolls
Limp and lifeless

Please be aware,
Before entering her lair,
You face possible death.

As the perfumed air
From her derriere
Will have you gasping for breath

Sunlight streaming in
Making glorious dancers
Of dust in the air

I climbed a tree today
and sat atop a branch
I viewed the world in a brand new way
that I'm sure cannot be matched.

The tree spoke of a history
I could barely imagine.
Steeped in rich mystery,
My gorgeous old oak mansion.

Feathers sprouted from my skin,
Changes in every cell.
I was born a bird. I tried to fly
But it did not end well

Be careful of those
crocodile tears
you weep.
They can
bite you
on the ***.

These scarlet pages
Soaked in sadness
Tell a story
Of pain and grief
Unspoken.
Today, we write
Upon clean sheets.

She was a lioness;
All sleek lines
And mesmerising grace
Capped with a deadly intent.
He was an antelope
Caught in the headlights
And oh so *****.
One thing's for sure.

She's gonna eat him for breakfast

Nocturnal creatures
Eagerly anticipate
Time to reign supreme

Like stained glass,
She was breathtakingly beautiful
But easily broken

She cried for you
And all you could do
Was extract the salt
From her tears
To rub into her wounds

Moonlight lays kisses
Upon a tranquil ocean.
Soporofic touch.

She works all day in a dead end job
And the money is not the best
The boss is a bit of a pervy ****,
Keeps staring at her chest.
Laughing too loudly, at unfunny things,
And tipping her the wink,
Hiding the lines of his wedding ring
Or so he likes to think.
Too-tight jeans and garish shirts
And teeth unnaturally white.
She'd like to kick him where it hurts
Even dreams of it at night.
He offers to take her to a bar,
Wherever she'd like to go
And he'd drive her home in his flashy car,
So nobody needs to know.
She nods her head and smiles her thanks
And makes a discreet phone call.
Her boss is as thick as two short planks and is about to lose his *****.
They enter the bar, he sees his wife
And knows he's out of luck.
He's either going to lose his life,
Or his wife's going to make him a ******

We wrote our lives
unto hopefilled parchment
and sprayed upon it
the perfume of our souls.
They used it to wipe
away their bitter tears
and held a match to it.
But that just means
we float forever
on a higher wind

The **** crows at dawn
Robbing sleep from the farmer
As he tries to wake

The farmer labours
Underneath a scorching sun
Drenched in his own sweat

His wife brings him lunch
And he drinks straight from the well
His thirst, satisfied.

Struggles to endure
No longer a man of youth
Greys at his temples

The day is over
Destined to be repeated
Breaking soil breaks backs