dancing upon waves
coral keys do serenade

elegant silhouettes

He motivated them live
      within there confinements,

parts of their jigsaw lost.

                        But he was dying inside

I have looked in the reflection of self, so many versions
I have seen reflected upon this tapestry of illusions.

I have never seen the self that is portrayed on this portrait,
I have lingered in the brushstrokes that are eloquently hidden.

I have been damaged like a crack that is never seen within,
I have tried to be strong but I'm lingering in a false reflection.

I'm collapsing within a void less sunset of disputes
that were once bright as those in the nights sky.

But now are dimming upon the sunrise of eventual
failings, subduing the emotions that get absorbed.

Can we ever escape the pull of our collapsing intentions
that were bright, but now pull us into oblivions grasp.

Beauty woven within a blossom of elegant
                                                              spines,
fevered upon landscapes of humidity.
Treasures of the
                       desert locked within ,
moistures lingering within a sealed prison

I cried in to a vase of flowers to let them blossom
in my pain and they flourished continually.

Pain
        is
           life

In the tears that fall, stories blossom of our struggles,
but we are petals that descend into a vase of continual droplets.

The riptide of emotions were pulling me beneath
the crest of his eyes, I swam above them.

But never near the shoreline of emotion, I drowned
within the sand that was swallowed within the coastline

Collecting seashells of echoes of what had past,
depleted of voices collecting past misgivings on the waves.

shells sang subtle songs
as wishes walked upon land


sinking beneath waves

but wishes are three
neither more than triplicate

yearning happiness

Ambrosial nectars entice
                young minds to venture


close within hungers sweet grasp.

I  was a funeral pyre for there disillusions. All arched in collective
fragmentation of what transpired within the variation of echoes that
collected upon them. Like voices on a beach of shells shattering harmoniously they fell like sheets cleaved from a washing line.

I just looked, my voice rippling across the street of what I was perceiving, they were now not mesmerised by the effigy of
my features but know they fled. Neither walking but unattached
to what was perceived. Their stares blank cavities of nothingness.

Wondering within what could be perceived as a pastel painting,
things where they were meant to be, but!!
Slightly
              out of focus, windows were like breath had been woven
within there frame of reflection. Random verses collected then
like a candle they were melting into the mist collecting till nothing.

The focus of my mind was that it wasn't just the images of aged personality woven with the fabric of this place but images of
children in happiness then contorted within what could be perceived
as loneliness. they walked alone hand out like in a needing of
what couldn't be complicity conceived.

Some were against formations  of what were perceived as walls,
but looking upon them, more like memories coalescing  into tight
collects. Were these the structures of lives lived not formed into
a accumulation  of reflections? I bent down to talk to these echoes
of what i perceived as children and they cried memories on my palms.

**To Be Continued

We are puddles that some times collect into perfect moments,
and other times boulders of anxiety deluge us
                                                    and the ripples wash upon us
like a concussion of time.

But ripples will fade,
and we will become once again smooth
                                                                ­  for as long as we can be.

Colour by numbers,

             crimson shades are bleached.
To much went over the lines

Placebo desolations were lingering in
far flung reserves of blind
                                             conciseness.

Debilitating truths were a shiny pedestal
that hung high like a noose
                                               tempting
Them to climb upon the branches and
                                                  hang silently.  

Like magpies,
shiny things caught their innocence,
like sheep they were herded by a lie
                                     that tasted bitter sweet

My thoughts are coalescing in a web of frustration,
I linger on the walls that are as blank as my memories
of a happier time. I write in tipp-ex, white washing the
words wrote in red pen that bled from my finger-tips.

Syllables verse so much when adhering with word and
reflections of who we  are. But mine are shallow puddles
of nothingness that are only filled with tears,
consolidating my hollowness crumbling within my tears.

Collect the words like breadcrumbs, they weren't fresh but slightly
past a sell by date of needed listening. I've died inside so many
times to be resurrected each morning devours me a little bit more,
the pills fall like raindrops in the puddle of my mind.

Collecting pebbles to sink in
                   to my dreams.

I plunge a big rock in so that I
may slumber
         that while longer.

Even my dreams are tired tonight..
                                               *ZZZzzzz.....

I'm clouded within the vapor
of droplets that collect
                   in my lungs
to verse a drowning motion
                               that others swim upon

I die in within the moments that are coalescing
                                                          inward­s between
                                                   a fraction of  breath,
and I revive to expel the moments my
consciousness that fled to oblivion.

Welcome to the bereavement of my
                            wordings decaying
to nothingness before your eyes/.
Translate them before they
are inert, and are the
                          voice
                           of the
                                dead.
No longer dead and unnavigable in verse.

I'm three years old,
        my mummy asks me?

"What ya wanna be when ya grow up,

"A serial killer mummy,

After that she hide the knifes?

[Puzzlement] covered my face, now that's
a big word for someone who's three, spell
check if you want to see.....

"Baby you ok?

[Puzzlement,] "I know go me. She looked
as I did was this look was it somewhat
[contagious] "I know I'm three,

"Yes mummy I'm a cereal killer. I plunge
my spoon in to my breakfast till it seeps
milk then when I've finished I bury it.

"Bury it, yes in the bin mummy there
remains rot and make fertilizer.
"My mummy looked relived,

But I didn't tell her I bury them in the garden,
in the little black bags in the flower bed.
Decaying cereal feeding the flowers nourishment.

My words are vocalizations of what is
cognitive reverberation upon my thoughts.
They are vapours of what was unintelligible
upon the surface, but sank to deeper reflections.

When they spilt on the white from inexistence
to my voice in simplistic vocalization of verse.
Then what collected in rendition collected forth.

Listen to my voice, now you are reading these
last vocal mentions not in yours but the perceiving
of what my voice resonates between. From thought
to paper welcome to my words in my echo of my voice.

Running in a field of wild flowers,
                                               she sees her mother
looking happy in the distance. As footsteps take
little motions palms gliding on long grass.

Wild flowers spill across the field like a
                                                            paintbrush
wove them in to a certain place.
Gleefully she picks a handful to give to her
                                                    mummy with smiles.

They wander home, petals falling behind.
    
             "Mummy do you know why petals fall?
                                  
Smiling at such an inquisitive question she answers.
            
     "Yes darling because we picked them from the ground
no longer getting there substance they slowly fade.

"Mummy no,
                   "Its because we took them from there family,
"And each petal that falls is a sorrow for those left behind.

The mother walks on, tears caressing her cheeks, she wipes them
away so her little petal can not see. Holding her hand tightly,
never wanting her to be plucked from her field of loving care.

I asked you when we were knee high
to a blade of grass would you look
after me, never to let me go..

I asked you when we were but a breath
of years if you'd always stand by my
side, two peas in a pod you and I.

I asked you when you were a kiss away
would I be your forever, as the rings eloped
on our fingers, we both said yes.

I asked you, I remembered that promise you
gave to be always here to be by myside.
now I'm asking you to relinquish that promise.

I asked you, with a tear falling like snowflakes.
You'll always be here, but now I need to release you.
Tears fell and peace woven like silk blanketed your eyes.

"You made a promise,
*"You stood by it, ill forever embrace you in my dreams.

We're a fragment of what came
before us a
            Mother & Father.

Collecting stones or reason
to sink ourselves before we've
                                                  lived.

Life's a singular breath,
that's painful
                       &
                         harmonious.
A paradox of reason, but I'm still breathing.

My words are
       random clippings,

Sewn on the back of used
                   newspaper adverts.

Ink collected in just understandable verse.

I'd just fixed the echo of
tears that
                grazed within me.

Then coalescing before me,
                            you smiled,
                                it was a hit & run.
Thrown back in ruination
as my emotions bled.

You never even checked,
you just proceeded,
and I again
                  was a broken seashell.

Thinking our love was
a message on a
              paper airplane.

Me and you the only
                       passengers.

But then you threw a match,
                   Ash flew in the breeze.
        I was falling and you never caught me.

You left a post-it note
                             saying

"Its a life of empty pillows,

But I didn't cry till I noticed
       you'd taken a knife to
      the picture above our bed.
        
Separating us in still form,
                  a fabric of reflection
                      that cant be re-sewn.

I'm a sanitary towel
      soaking up unconceived
                                      wording.

You bleed them heavily,
                   the smell of copper
                                      syllables

Haemorrhaging upon me
        saturating deeply I'm
                                        used.

Throw away like it wasn't
         personal,  but I'm now a sentence
                                           completed.

The aspiration was to overturn the  
hurt they collected upon my pain,
every time was like an original painting.

Blended with anticipation of seeing the  
last words grieving their deeds. But all
actions speak more than any words. I'm
depleting from their exhausted pleading,
everything is a moment of our dead reflections.

Cleaving the carcass of another addition,  
under the skies will they be food for
thoughts of others to feed upon. A new
slave to the elements, they will decay.

Don't they realize I'm doing a service?
ensuring the blade is fed, steel needs warmth
every time its buried its feels there life elope,
p*enetrating deeper than a soul weeping.

I live in the basement, never venturing
upon those stairs, I hear her voice...
"Come up and see me its been to long,
Holding my ears singing my favourite song
repetitively until she is drowned out of
my thoughts. rocks tied to her voice as it
sinks out of view.

I use the stairs that open to the outside,
Lingering looking at this place I called home.
Venturing in the old ford, she lets me drive
it when food is but breadcrumbs and eggs
old enough to birth the dead fetes of a partly
grown bird. I look out though a ***** window
screen, this trip takes two hours each way.

I always wonder if my bald tyres are ever
noticed, but I'm not hindered by the thoughts
of this. So much to see when driving in solitude.
I stop at the side of the road picking cherries,
I slump them in the boot. I may eat upon this
morsel or just hang them outside watching
them swaying in the gentle breeze.

My father just looks out the window.
Doesn't talk much these days his eyes are sunken
like the titanic splintered between two pools.
I move his chair and his arm falls at his side.
collecting it, I put him palms resting on a blanket
He's so gaunt now, he was a strong man now but a shadow.

I look at those cherries lingering above the ground,
shaded from just picked to becoming spoilt, but i
just leave them swaying the aroma fills lungs with
life's eroding perfume, I breath it deeply within.
This is my home, "she never calls me for dinner anymore,
I just make my own, the washing up is festering in
my ignorance, like a garden of petrification flowering.

Saying bye to my dad, I get in the old ford.
Its time to pick some fresh cherries, the tree
is looking unkempt. Its blossom is in honour
of a mother, I hang them all there. My
Mother hung there for a long time ,but she's
long gone. So I bring other cherries to the tree
to show that she'll never be forgotten....

Looking beneath you,
tattered memories
               a worn out face sullen.

You giggle at there misfortune
momentarily,
But then look confused!
        not realizing this is the
father you never knew.

His illness never walking your halls.
      A ring still hangs closely..

Ingested eyes
           souls gateways unattainable  

feeding the feathers of oblivion.

Over the rainbow my wishes were bloated in the
remains of gold coins now turning jaded.

False hopes of aspirations now just dehydrated
thoughts, echoes of rainbows reflections bleached.

Where the colour I followed I was lingering in
the falsehood of them contending with my problems.

Even shooting stars fell to earth, they wished to stay
afloat above but lay cold static decaying.

I'll never chase rainbows again, ill just linger in
the rain, washing away my tears hidden from you.

I plough her
                 field

A drought ends
           when her waters flow.

But she never waters
                        my mushroom.

Seeds never devoured,
                      dehydrated upon release.

My thoughts are transparent balloons
unattached from others, singularly
caressing the river of the mind.

Only visible when musing forms
on the exterior, like dewdrops of
syllables coalescing  do they rise.

I observe these tiny reflections
drifting on there own, in forms of
vocalization that collect in verse.

I asked her if I could
dip my
      pen in her inkpot

She replied "What are you going to write?

A brevity of love, I said..
                                  
                               "Your confident, she replied...

We are but a lingering breath in the
                                  void of existence.

When we exhale a final vocalization
                of our moments that shed a tear.

We are but a grain of earth that grows
                          petals. that will always fall.

Our place is in memory, we are but a breath
                                               
                                              in a grain of sand falling.

Caged within cellophane mirages,
              swimming on promises that suffocate.

With every footstep...

                     If only I had two more steps...  

Reality suffocates slowly...

Regressive are the faded receipts of
what I handed to myself...

They owe me an emotional coin flip,
Heads I'm
                  lingering in happy reflections..

Tales I'm just imaginary,
                                           And I'm fading...

Buoyancy keeps me floating above
a tide of seductive
                           deepening

I'm a stop motion venture that will
surprise you with a reality
                                       at its ending..

I'm there mannequin of echoes, they treat me
like a brothel, I'm used so many times, I feel *****.
Every time they exploit my subconscious I cut
ever so lightly to relive the memory of them.

They entrap me, a poster of my features hangs
tattered in my mind.
"Reward given have you seen these lost reflections,
I'm lingering within this lost and found motion.

I slumber in a collection of memories that are woven
tightly upon myself, I try to weave my migration from
this place to realities knotted grip. But I'm an illusion that's
never pulled from the hat, I see the impression above me.

I'm a mannequin of repetition, fondled seductively on
a bed of onyx petals. I'm seduced many times, I feel loved.
Every time they weave silken verses on my subconscious.
I'm hooked, and ever so slightly I recall those contorted moments.

I'll stick my sword so deep within you
                                  our children will be knighted

Even before there conceived....

Where those that have eclipsed past breath.
Regressing into a stockade of oblivions slumber.
There words are static on granite anchors.

But where whispers are numb, even though
deleted of motions, a needing persists beyond
confined stillness, a yearning beyond substance

A duet sprung forth,  disconnected, but knew of
another's shadow caressing another. Thoughts are
like leaves they grow till branches intertwined.

Brushing upon memories buried deep beneath
the earth, a foliage of wanting. As leaves mingled
formations wove within the rustling emotions.

A pathway woven within leaves. branches silently
watch as they walk within this silhouette two leaves
released by the breeze, ascending to the distance.

They needn't say anything as leaves fall like teardrops
into an updraft, never falling below as these aren't
of sorrow. Two trees caress in a cemetery of cold memories.

We will always exhale sunsets,
but breath a new day.

When our eyes seek retirement
for contemplation.

As a sun arises on our reflections
awakening the prospect of
                           a less clouded day..

Woeful symphony's collide within this after dark melody.
Before this tapestry of auroras that like a spark huddle within
its congregation, like moths around a flame waiting to be but
extinguished.

My wings encompassed this reality of shadows, elegance
wondered the shallow breath of eternity plucking black
orchards and seeding them on these pebbles of cold rock and ice.
So did these embryo silhouettes dance exquisitely in silence.

There is a unseen beauty that only the blind will ever envision
Where we whisper nothings but this song is always heard.
But time is a dull motion where there was nothing to play
upon. A dance of contours only visible to oneself becomes futile

So for the auroras to whisper shadows I bathed this once
beautiful place with eclipse of form. I scattered my feathers
to far flung voyages ,where now quills write on the stars
of my tortures but now my silhouettes dance a new form.

For there cant be light without darkness, heat without cold.
I breathed upon this existence, these pebbles of light in
a sea of oblivion. All pebbles will eventually sink,
till there is but perpetual twilight once again.

Whirlybird of gazing views
              on rotor's  you whispers
on the breeze like a hummingbird.


Hovering static as if ready to
                                             pounce,
but alas you descend.

Unblemished notions were
                          reflected inwards,
but inside they're contorted
beyond my perception of right.

I blemish this portrait of perfection
till only smudges gaze within my sight.

The formation of my mind is
              slowly being chloroformed
      within a blanket of fumes
I struggle to expel my meanings

There slowly going numb
           like a reflection diming.
I write a  sentence in the sand
           but its just gets washed away...