Are your eyes as plaintive
as your made up face,
reclining on this polished chair
could a few words make the difference?
between wishing something true
or a lost dream leaching on the still
Joanne is wary
the seashells once listened
now no longer confide her secrets
the flickering candle has already cast
her life line
night times tides have peaked
the easiest of passages are lost
and as much as you meander
rest assured the reason
will one day untangle you
Questions cluster like rain clouds,
it's often easier to hide under autumns anonymity,
and sling this old life into recluse.
Yet how could I slip away
and honestly believe there was a reason?
What if the promise of tomorrow was marshalled today?
to be offered flourishing hope,
only by renewal does one give,
unless my heart is snagged
it comes back to changes.
even the wind chases down her cause,
sequestering at her leisure
Joanne seeks memories
beyond her highgate bedsit
she dreams of tenderness
but could never quite divulge
where it's journey ended
She thought the breeze could carry her defences
Only now, she concedes.
No blinding light only the wariness
of the daily fracture
Croydon how I wish it was goodbye
you lost your voice a long time ago.
I remember how our played out rendezvous
stripped away the pretense
I have often thought of candle light as a masquerade
flickering like a contestant
and the only cure is the drifting Coombe Woods
where I can hide under those autumnal leaves,
finally letting it go.
He gifts them Summer fields
and even fetches them twilight sun
stinting over rows of trees,
where fireflies hover
and in the midst of paradise
you realise his regimen is familiar
he has already sent multitudinous pals,
adorned in grey and tarnished buckles
into fields of blood red poppies
and vortex craters filled with iron oxide
no greater love than scarred sacrifice
to perfect his own dusk
I am thinking of day one of the Somme 1916 with the new model army of clerks and farmers mown down by ill thought out tactics