There’s poetry of motion
In this world that we call ours,
From the ticking of the time piece
To the beating heart caged within our bones

There’s poetry of motion
In this world that we call ours,
From the orbit of the moon,
Too the pulling of the tides

There’s poetry of motion
In this world we call ours.
From the sun beat….ing out the day
To the turning of the seasons.

There’s poetry of motion
Upon this earth we think we own
From the cycle of birth, life, death,
With sowing of a seed, the harvesting of the grain

There’s this thing we think of as poetry of motion
I do not seek to understand it
Just to roll in time to my own destiny
Along this thing we call poetry of motion

Yet sometimes I do wonder if we understand
This poetry of motion, that we think we own
When we stare beyond this the universe
And see another type of motion
A wholly different point of time
With the creation, life and death
Of a billion other stars.

(Sun)

Cold stone statues of all shapes and sizes
Chilled to the moss covered bone
Standing *****, markers of time
Weather worn words, passages of years

A place of disasters, heartbreak and crime
All gathered there, forgotten by time
As the trees bend to the seasons
And the passing of years

A lone figure dressed in black
Stands above an unnamed gravestone
Reflecting on past memories
Of someone he had known.

Brown wet clinging clay lies
Heaped by the side of a black hollow
Waiting for another invited guest
As the bell tolls, mournfully

Sleep, torn eyes wait for the darkness
Searching for signs of dreams coming
Waiting, wondering when they don't
Tired, hungry eyes looking for sheep
To jump gates that never open










Moonbeams peak between slats
Wakening, the woken
Thoughts creep towards the dawn
Side stepping any opportunity
Of resting, in the cool of dark.
Tonight,
I wished I walked amongst the stars
When sleep stays at bay
I'd glide across the wide expanse
Of heavenly jewel studded ocean
Converse with the Great Bear
Query Aquarius about moon pathways
Until then I’ll lie in wait
For first chinks of the day.

Ashen faced, slumped there,
Clutching a crumpled
Brown telegram
No words she uttered
No tears, fell from those brown eyes
The words on the paper
Lodged in her throat
K I A
Blocking a silent scream of anguish.
She felt her fingers open,
The impersonal note dropping to
The cold stone floor, making no noise
To disturb the silent cry locked within her.
........
In the years and decades that follow
All that she could remember
Was the dreadful silence, of
The painful scream locked within her,
On the day she lost her sweetheart.

Scrambling upon slimy rocks

Pocketful of glistening pebbles

Wellies damp from taking just one too many steps

Tiny soft mottled green shelled crab

Held delicately between forefinger and thumb

Smell of salt air on your jumper

Knees scuffed red raw from exploring

Daring adventures of a boy

Down upon St. Mary's Isle

Teasing little sisters with monsters from

Recently refilled rock pools,

Sea anemones, all shiny slippery jelly

A dead lobster with only one claw

Amazing treasure from a world, he knew well

Early morning, cold breeze cutting through

A green jumper, mother shouting at the gate

Something about being warm, he didn't really hear

Skipping over seaweed covered rocks,

Net and rod grasped firmly in hand

Off to catch a monster, fish from beyond

The edge of an island, where magical things occur

Like weathered, washed up wood, from

An imagined wreck, or
Bright blue netting, and seaweed cage

A sharks purse contained within

The salty, sweet taste of the sea air,

And the splash of frothing white spray

As the seventh wave hits the rock

A boy or a man in paradise

A simple boy in paradise, skipping over rocks

Discovering seaside treasure, by the rocky shore

Bratus
Standing
Tall
Fingers
Caressing
An
In
Visible
Caesicius
Ce­iling

Silently spoken words
Softly caress the ear
Uttered in a precious moment
To be shared, never to be forgotten,
But where do the whispers go
After they leave your soft lips?
Do they float gathering  
Other softly spoken moments
To make a light breeze upon
Which to flow gently
Till they reach another ear
Oh where do the whispers go?