Poetry sings in the close distance
Walks long stride of rainfall creeks
And rivers into seas

Dances clouds
In intermittent rainbows
Spectrum spiraling down
Dewdrops in autumn
All yellow orange
Disturbed by leaves

Insurgent
It reminds of passion
Subtle
By degrees
Fashioning memory
Like insulin
Needling youth too high
Or too low
On the sweet

On the sweet

It lingers
Words
Tongue to lips
Fragrance
On air too hot and too still
Breathing longing
Breeze denying

Until of love it has its fill

© 2018 Steve Kelly aka kellyocs

Betrayers in the garden
Always never miss
They know how to kiss
And to be done and dusted
Not like this

Subtle, slow
Like wind weathering away at stone
From longing lonely for millennium
To finally, ultimately, all alone

Never saw the approaching going
Early warning signs came too late
No defining cyclonic moments
No turmoil, lightning tempest, trunk snapping break

Just a wayward calypso breeze
The creaking of a gate

And gone like there never was
Scented garden, harbour, resting place
And the planet in ages past
Had never really turned full face

Towards the sun, into light, into life
In its endless round of space

© Steve Kelly aka kellyocs 2013

The howling maelstrom of wireless
Haunts the air unseen
Blue toothed demonic
It whips up white caps of restlessness
And drives sleep onto the rocks

Blowing through keyboard tickers
And screen flickers
There’s a digital mosquito hum in the rigging
And the sheets fill with an endless cacophony
Of Arabica bean buzz

Your physiognomy is a book
Rolled up like a chart in a tube
The cabin cricket in its cage
Twittering nonsense
And lusts of cute and food
And anti anti anti

Both bullies and victims at the masthead
Squeal and rage and defecate
Raw sewage dribbling down the bow
In a million billion ones and zeros

Sailors lost in foreign climes
With no purpose on land
The motley crew self-gratify
Thinking
Come the dawn we’ll all be back at sea

Not realising
That with the globe at your fingertips
Both night and day are constants
Lash yourself to the mast
Else be washed overboard

All the stars you used to sail by
Have become little more
Than dead pixels on a screen

© 2018 Steve Kelly aka kellyocs