Hall Of Blank Portraits

To my father,
I paint you as the sea,
Ebbing and flowing
In my memory.
Drifting in the doldrums
Immortal and serene,
Sleeping forever
In blues and green,
I sit on the shore
And dip my feet,
Fearing your portrait
Will remain incomplete.

To my mother,
I sketch you in chalk,
Across a torn canvas
Where my demons walk,
Every brushstroke
Dusty and smudged,
Devoid of the colours
You have always begrudged,
I kneel in the nothingness
Cold and dank,
Praying your portrait
Will always remain blank.

To my wife
I paint a pastiche,
The detail and shading
A masterpiece,
Some of the hues
I will need to borrow
From the darker years
And the times of sorrow,
Today I blend them
Into the colours of your face
Tomorrow your portrait
Will take pride of place.

To my son
I create a collage,
An abstract of shapes
You can sabotage,
Rearranging the pieces
In the chaos of your mind,
Forming some kind of sense
From the images you find,
I watch you methodically
Cut and paste,
Your portrait will never
Be worked on in haste.

To my daughter,
I colour in pastel shades,
Subtle white lace
And multicoloured brocades,
Basking in the sunlight
That lights up your face
Where you'll always pretend
You're in a better place,
I stand on the edge,
Distant and alone,
Your portrait is only one
I will never own.

To my siblings,
I draw you as trees,
Rigid in stature,
Defying the breeze,
The roots are tangled
In crumbling rock,
The branches separate
Where they should interlock,
I stand in the forest
Alone and lost
Selling your portraits
At little or no cost.

To my friends,
I etch you in gold
So the creases that define you
Can never unfold,
The plaque will be small
But the lines true,
The faces I will polish
Will be but a few,
I reflect in the image
Blurred and a folly,
I will frame your portraits
With melancholy.

To my lovers,
I depict you weeping,
Washed in watercolours
Bleeding and seeping,
And on your tears
I will always sip
As off the parchment
You slowly drip,
I will mop your faces
Until the paper is dry,
I will keep your portraits
Until I die.

To my life,
I charcoal in greys,
Layer upon layer
For the rest of my days,
Eventually the blackness
Of sadness and rage
Will become solid layers
On a liquid page,
I will live in my comfort zone
In an empty hall
And hang blank portraits
On a forgotten wall.

©RJVHorton2014

The End Is Nigh

Of life, I am
     a foolish child
With scythes
     and pretty things,
Out there, somewhere,
     running wild
Adorned in
     angels wings,
Naïvely cutting
     down my peers
Before they have a
     chance to grow,
Dressing them
     in my favourite fears
And an unstable
     status quo.
Superficial hugs
     and kisses
Ensure that
     I survive,
Despite you all
     and near misses
Perchance
     I am still alive.
Of death, l am
     a wise old fool
With poems
     and sound advice,
In there, somewhere,
     losing my cool,
Stripped down
     to things not nice,
Mocking dreams
     and lifelong friends
Before they get
     too real,
But it's too late
     to make amends
Or change
     the way I feel,
I need the love
     I once denied
And still,
     I don't know why,
I only know
     the voices inside
Are telling me
     the end is nigh.

© RJVHorton 2015

Corpses And Fools

I watch her move
Like an eel,
Slithering, smooth,
Wet to the feel,
Thrashing shallow pools
Midst the deathly cries
Of corpses and fools
That splash my eyes.

She watches me on her shore
Like a crane,
Peering, strutting, sure
Of her pain,
Long, slender neck as sublime
As a sharpened spike,
Rising and falling in time
Waiting to strike.

Our eyes meet in the night
Like fireflies,
Flitting, bright,
Two lover's in disguise,
A struggle, a frenzied ******,
She oozes in the affray
In a flourish of lust
Then slithers silently away.

© RJVHorton2014

Comfortable Arrows

Lay down my friend,
lay upon a muddy pillow,

Such relief
after a hard day
playing in battle
and in fear.

Take off a limb
or two,
and slip into
something gauze,

Swathes of
poppy red fields,
crisp and clean
will embrace you.

Perhaps a little claret,
sticky,
a good nose
but not too old,

Warm,
trickling
and soothing,

Vintage,
with a bouquet
of iron,

Barbed,
with a lingering finish,

Perfect with a cigar,

Hand rolled
leaves of skin,

Toasted,
flakey,
rubbed
and lit....

Inhale,
inhale
through silver holes,

Where sparkling bullets
still ricochet,

Still smoking.....

Breath,
pause,
breathe,
pause,
pause.....

Turn down
the exploding lights,

It's only a game,

Those blazing fires
of the cannons
are far too bright
for our little lot,
for us to be brave,

To relax,
to die.

Perhaps
a little music will help,

A bugle,
a boom,
a cry,
a boom,
a whistle,
a shout,
a bugle,
a boom,

Like the rythmn
of a drum,
of a heart,
or a love song.

Close your eyes,
there's nothing more
to see,

To live for,

To feel......

It's all in your
imagination.

You will not
hurt anymore
when dying is like
being executed
by smiling friends
with childish bows
and comfortable arrows.

© RJVHorton2014

Circles Of Light

I am a circle of light,
All that I am
Is within,
All that you see
Is my colour;
I am blue.

Sometimes.....
I brighten your day,
Flood your thoughts,
Colour your dreams,
You see me;
I am bright.

Other times.....
I hide in your periphery,
You sense me,
I kiss you,
You blink
And I fade.

You are a circle of light,
All that I need
Is within,
All that I see
Is your colour;
You are yellow.

Sometimes.....
We pass in the dark,
I see your aura,
You see my aura,
We both see
Rainbows.

Then we merge
On the event horizon
Of love,
Too intense
To co-exist;
We turn black.

© RJVHorton2012

All I Own

All I own, these words, but few,
Often not, yet meant to be true,

To speak, to write, but not in vain,
I utter in silence upon my pain.

My love, my friend, my nemesis,
With all I own, this is all there is,

A poem, written, but not in ink,
Words of love, to dream, to think.

I am but shy, yet in spirit, bold
All I own, is this heart, untold,

Whisper, shall I, in your ear?
And you can know of what I hear.

These, the words, yet unspoken,
My love, my heart is surely broken,

A love poem, I have yet to write,
Is all I own of one passionate night.

© RJVHorton 2015

And You, My Dear, Will Fade

Ah, there you are,
How radiant you appear,
Lovers seem to be distant
As sycophants stand too near,
And you glide, as if on air,
I breathe your every move,
Omnipresent yet undefined
With simply nothing to prove.

Surely time will spoil you,
Painted smiles will decieve
The joker and the mourner
Who'll find the time to grieve.
And you, my dear, will fade
Just as your lacklustre pearls,
Tarnished by pretentious tears
Cried by all pretentious girls.

Ah, there you are,
I knew you wouldn't be far,
Delving into the dark corners
Looking for who you are,
Consuming your murky past
Like a wild ravenous flame,
Frantically erasing the faces
Of all the people you blame.

Surely they are long gone,
You're on your own from here,
Best if you don't meddle
In things that cause you fear,
And you, my dear, will fade
Like so many dreams before,
Of actually being able to love
The son you were meant to adore.

Ah, there you go
Reflecting on your sanity,
Mirrors telling their stories
Of beauty versus vanity,
Distorting sad expressions
So you always look your best
As you clutch a stillborn baby
Tight to your heaving breast.

I was suckled and then crushed
By the mother I'll never know,
Even though the wounds have healed
The scars will always show,
And you, my dear, will fade
Just as as you start to feel
And I, my dear, would love you
If only you were real.

© RJVHorton 2015