Slow. Steady. Rhythmic.
The dull thud beats in time with the sway and cantor of the melody. Glide across the hall, dip down to the banister.
Beat. Beat. Beat.
Even and calm, lost in the frequency, wandering amidst the pitch. Fanciful footwork frames the floor with twisting steps and intricate detail.
Shrouded in fireflies and dandelion dust that drifts on the lazy current of the song, drowsing through notes and harmonies in a trance of ballroom dance.
Rise up.
Build into a waltz of throbbing desire. Whirl in the stars and flit past treetops. Even and clean, again and again and again.
Search the woods with craving eyes and fixate a longing gaze on the shadows of the mountains. The horizon will bleed into the treeline as melancholy keys and jubilant echos bring a cobalt stare reeling round and round the surface of the planet.
Press out each measure with deliberate punctuation.
Step hard, flit away, step firm, pull in, step true, twirl out, step in, dip low.
The march of feet in sync resonating through soul and mind: rhythm, measure, beat.
Soar.
Rush the pace into a frenzied tango. Alight a tender foot on the raindrops and fly into the moonlight as the throbbing repetition drives the dance onward.
Hear the wail of the drums in the atmosphere; they cry out in agony, ever increasing intensity. Pound out the steps over and over, numb to the world.
Bring the reckless mind crashing down upon the orchestra pit. Flood heart and soul with sheets of music dripping with pen strokes of madness and ingenuity.
Heaving, writhing, panting, burning, pounding, crashing, yearning heart be free.
You stop short, gasping for breath, ears peaked by a new sound. Another beat. You swipe the wild strands of hair from your eyes and find yourself a butterfly’s breath away from a brand new heartbeat. His sandpaper skin brushes your fingertips, chocolate eyes melting into your dance. You twirl out, he catches your milky wrist and dips you into his lullaby. Spinning in, two songs forge into one as pounding fades to throbbing. The voice of the lark rises in your throat, a jade sky splits the earth in two, and you fly away. Dancing to the rhythm of your heartbeats.

9 | 31 Poems for August 2017

When my blue skies have turned grey, I listen to that one Emeli Sandé song and reminisce about you every single day.
The moment you opened your eyes, I was right there by your side and my love for you comes as no surprise.
But I knew that someday my love wouldn’t be good enough for you and that somehow, you’d find a way to disappear.
I hope you’ve found a way to finally stop smoking cigarettes and drinking ***** like there’s a message in the bottle.
Love, I wish you’d be more open about your feelings because bottling everything in is detrimental.
I still write about you in hopes that one day you’ll read all these words and hopefully find your way back to me.
I still miss the sweet scent of your presence on the white duvet covers and cotton sheets of my memory.
Love is blind and that I already know, but I had never pictured writing these words without you.
Maybe you were right when you said that my love is as bad as my handwriting is – maybe I should’ve seen it coming.
Your aura always took me to peaceful picturesque places that I had only seen in my dreams.
I still want to hold your heart like the lonely autumn trees hold the fragility of clinging leaves.
But I knew that someday my love wouldn’t be good enough for you and that somehow, you’d find a way to disappear.

Brightest beauty glistening on the wave
In that moment perfection crave
That picturesque scene forever save
Remembered now until distant grave
Calm, gentle, floating on the wave
For some it really seems so brave
To let go, be free of thoughts that pave
A path so dark you wish to stave
Sky's reflection gleaming on the wave
Bright, blue, clear, such hope it gave
And worried thoughts start to behave
Eyes free, no more accustomed to a cave
Peace, tranquility, dancing on the wave
And Oh how sweet the heart can rave
Once freed from shackles that enslave

Star Gazer:  
How are you fellow poet?
I hope the burning sun is keeping you
Warm without knowing it
Through a thin veil of sky so blue.

Conor Blatchford:  
A pure veil of blue
It is beautiful, white fluffy clouds
Keening wind and lapping waves
The most pure of calming sounds

Star Gazer:
Waves rush the rocks
Though the sun pierces the clouds
Crashing, smashing and rumbling
Till the mountains come crumbling.

Conor Blatchford:  
Sun sets and darkness falls
The stars show themselves at night
Calm waves rippling
Reflecting that beautiful starlight

Star Gazer:
Though bright a light may be
The touch of a star is all but lost
When we ask of fun and glee
Amidst all the chaotic costs.

The mouth may be
Sewn, out of words,
Sworn, to never speak.

But a pen and a bottle of ink
Can never disappoint
The unspoken things you think.

A soft, bristle brush of it
On the surface,
The marks it leaves,
Are so unworldly picturesque
It’s always hard to believe.

They made her a quaint painting,
well mannered,
she never spoke out of turn.
She granted herself a wish,
she only wanted to be picturesque
so
waning to the wayside of  mannerisms
she gave herself 'wiggle room'
she was a sight
not worth seeing.
Cracked porcelain faces,
she saw herself in them.
It took time to find her way to shore
but when she did
and stood on her own two feet,
she was more vivid and brilliant
than any quaint little painting.

The mountains raise their heads
To look up to the sky
Looking to kiss the eternity
Searching for the soft caress of clouds
And soothe the upheaval it went through
First drop of rains anoint the rugged surface
The sequestered waterfall cascades down
And adorns the mountainous terrains
Covering it with the soft velvety green
Enthusing life into the once lifeless rocks
Once among the rubble
The mountains have found their place of glory