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in a meadow on the bluffs
little stars clutch clinging
to earth and sky all for us
the eye. petals are rolling
in on misty winds surprise
more for the eyes, and all
of meadow so live above
is tapestry higher than sea
colours meshing with leaves
birds, bees, faces of flower
scents of sweetness in air
a patch of ground bursting
for you and me with poetry
Off lone island bay,
Outlander waves are praying,
Curly in their white caps.

Cars and lorries are creeping
Into a village still sleeping,
Coming in from nowhere.

Stones have things to voice,
There are stars of rock fish
Deep in bays with the moon.

Beyond night dream are lochs,
Darks and colds of longings,
Mountains old as confusion.

Birds chime their mouth musics,
Churlishly sent over moorlands,
All questions ring unanswered.

On broke beaches are notions
Of days strung to faraways
And sands bleached ancestral.

Off lone island bay,
Simple comings, waves, goings,
After sly moon, sun has its say.
The worst thing about being a poet
Is that you're drawn to pain
The pain and fear inspire
Great works and wonders
For those of us good with words

Some who are lucky
Can write well of all things happy
Those rare few

Most everyone I know
Write of pain
Pain and fear
Memories
Or we compare, criticize
This crap society of ours

Emotions fill us
We feel to the fullest
We might get scared
But it's not the pain we fear
We realize that pain leads us
Leads is to discover great rhymes
A nice flow of words
Words that help ease our minds
Sun is complaining,
Rain gathers scent,
Wetness remaining,
In a town after lent,

Fog rises above the hills,
Smoking cottages dreaming now,
Stars wait in puddles of sill,
Fish in the seas are teeming, tow,

The moon waves in a hurry,
To hide from the dawn neat,
Crows fly and scurry,
Birds are spry, sleepy,

Wading on lawns,
Like worms in garden,
Or grasses moor tawny,
My heart is drowned,

In the breadth of a snail,
Is a lustrous ocean town,
By the ocean that sails,
In my place which I renown.
Wildflowers in grey day sun,
I like how they feel,
Proud amongst the stones
Of craggy walls and splintered
Wood in my village so bare,
Littered, wild blooming sundrops,
So bonnie, loud and cheerfully
Clear that this is a new day
To be beautiful.
You are the sunrise
that illuminates the twisted roads ahead.

The photocopier
that seems to do what you didn’t want it to.

The branch
that sways precariously in the wind.

The clock
that stops, starts, stops, starts.

The froth
that dangles a little too far over the side of my cup.

The peach
that contains a solid stone under the façade.

The book
that always ends with unanswered questions.

The confetti
that looks glorious but doesn't stay for long.

The nosebleed
that stains my pillow at night.

The boomerang
that flew off in the distance, yet to return.
Written: October 2011.
Explanation: Second poem written for university. A metaphor poem about a friend of mine, which turned out to be far more negative than originally planned.
If I approach you my hair feints,
In the wind like my heart.

If I look at you my eyes glaze up,
A beautiful birdy flies by.

What little words we seldom share,
I show such trouble speaking.

What little time near you I spend,
I have such fainty breathing.

Rain drops feel like your finger tips,
What I imagine touch to be.

Temperate waters in the harbour,
To carry boats fine out to sea.
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