I
How will you remember me,
will you form my shape as is my way,
my veins swollen with a veiled rejoice
that hides my burial chamber beneath
a shrouded veil of contempt.
Who will remember me?
A fighting roaring man drunk as sand
an outside storm that weathered faces
in a rising sky full of snow horsemen,
that draw your eyes upwardly
then fall below their peculiar time.

II
How shall I be remembered?
A lover that blazed a trail every midnight,
he that stole and sold hearts in a single beat,
fashionable runt, cool in summers heady days
that ran from a friends sisters bed before her age.
Who would remember?
The love the labour the sweat
the boundless hours working for cruel light,
a family pace of a snails want
that sweet cruel need that never shy’s
and I am bound by my fragile word.

III
My brother, my sisters voices I hear with a clear ring
gutted on cold stone ground in frost
and I knew love before my maidens mouth
whispered through thickets of thorns and bramble.
Who will remember them?
It’s the breath from those that rant,
clergymen with fierce eyes that talk in fondness,
yet would perish when their birds fly unknown
before deaths curtain is closed and comital spoke.
Lost in my map, my life, my day in poise.

IV
Now I sigh long into the day.
My steepled church sky soars far above me
and days grow shorter with every passing mouth.
Saints and sinners ride together in fallen flames as I look for an open eye in this mudded rockpool water.
And I remember;
with long armed embrace
that I kissed maidens lips
when they were young with starry eyes
and was carefree with strong clasp of bone
and in this third season fall Autumn was taught that forever was my sea, but a few hours between.
All this long before my grave and dying light.

On flat bank’s where
grass runt reeds grow
waiting for rising tide,
A lone Heron stealths silently
while Gulls cry warning, and dive effortlessly in to a cold sea air.
Pheonix  Peanut and Pandora
stranded on wet mud bank,
wait for their chance to escape
but it’s bonds that need to be severed in their quest for freedom.
Estuary lights dim and flicker in the distance while closer to shore Mermaids sing on the breath of a storm.
Beckoning sailors "come ride the waves"
Siren songs of lost souls and shadows
“Come with us” on this bursting sea.
And they sing with a drowning charm
as fishermen launch vessels under a shawl covered wife's watchful eye.
And yesterdays widows weep, face rained bright from navigational lights.
Ships bell ring in time with a rollicking sea,
Pheonix  Peanut and Pandora
still await their escape but not this night.
While the Heron has long fled this great swell.
No cries now from gulls nor mothers hurrying their little ones to the safety of their coal fired warm homes.
Just the rage of wave riding mermaids that will have their bounty
the heart and souls from a fisherman life.

Hands ache from this wintered breeze
As a gentle lament drifts sweetly
among the swaying reeds of the estuary.

May comes without the drifting sand of summer.
And loving words are lost upon
the sound of voice and ruins.

I was never afraid of the dark.
Until the night
I noticed how dark it was