The graveyard is a
mouth of crooked teeth,
with an ambiguous smile.

Monochrome sphere
cyclOptic gaze
Opalescent pearl
sentinel of Night

jutting and jagging
the looming grey monument
caps nature's crown

Unraveller of
invisible riddles,

demystifying scribe
of Faraday’s theatrics.

His, unlocking the
cage and waves of light

made Einstein special,
and the universe an ocean

of gravitational
waves, forever rippling.

Blue flames lick
the copper-bottomed pan.

Inside, hot milk rises,
underneath a white, foamy tarp.

A whoosh and frothy surge of
swollen milk cascades down steel sides.

Blue flames
turn red and extinguish.

Gas and acrid vapour mingle,
a beach of volcanic ash cools.

Blue flames lick
the copper-bottomed pan.

Inside, hot milk rises,
underneath a white, foamy tarp.

A whoosh and frothy surge of
swollen milk cascades down steel sides.

Blue flames
turn red and extinguish.

Gas and acrid vapour mingle,
a beach of volcanic ash cools.

Typed words
Cast out into ghoulish space
Gothic panes pulse and refract
The distortion of light.

The blue
flower of
ill distinction,
unfurls.

Parchment
petals,
pledge adorned,
crumble.

Dust is
truth. Each
unfiltered breath
pervades mulch.

Dusk…
…in the
space between
jigsaw pieces –
lost.

The straw is now my only connection to you -
a figurative bridge ornate with humanity.

In those 80s days,
a nuclear fire burned
in the hearth.

From the Bradbury,
Wyndham trees,
leaves fell in which to bathe.

Star Wars and Atlantis –
were fables and facts
in the scientific age…

…Today is an
unresponsive page
in a world of stranger things.

Observing snowflakes;
with each icy nuance glittering,

I forget my burning feet.

A leaf, drenched and torn;
spins through apathetic gullies.

Thin veins pump pulp;
scrivened sheets, knotted in repose.

…moonlit, the swing sags;
lank chains rust, steel corrodes.

Warm neurons fire –
salad days and grassy knees;

swinging higher,
factories loom beyond the trees.

Cold neurons fire –
churning ache, reality’s breeze.

you are the
core within tallow

a braided cotton
beauty destined to burn brightly

tangy vine tomatoes
picnic bites that drip on happy chins

words flow
like honey
through the
hives of our minds

through raindrop windows
another point of view
trickles into gravity's maw

The surf rolls and
ripples like a centipede’s
cascading legs.

Emotional hubs are kicked
and dredged through
the Atlantic’s merciless brine.

Delivered, near drowned;
damaged minds lie as
detritus on a stony beach.

Thoughts are brittle
shells pulverised
into grains of sand.

Fragments of consciousness
castaway, where Loneliness
is a private beach.

The chef is dying,
limp between starched white sheets.

Sour cream drips
from breathless meringue;

fading whites,
deathly pallor.

Puddles and pancakes -
the menu of the day.

Darting silver threads
sewn without visible seam
into muddy pools.
A moment of clarity
then turbidity returns.

...trickles down the windowpanes of
the blue summerhouse.

Inside, folded wheelchairs rest,
tyres wheezily deflating.

You whispered in my ears
when darkness shrouded
my innocence.

A black paged lexicon
of nuanced threats
I grew to fear.

The greenhouse - plants
removed and pots upturned;

a coffee shop of stolen breathers,
the wheezy breeze of whining.

Tobacco tendrils twist, amber
sludge hazing sun-kissed panes.

Violas sway
and hum
in the face
of brumal winds.

You are like bed sheets flapping in the wind;
Snap happy giggles alive with the thrum of Summer.

Naked but for
snow laden branches,

the silver birches
shimmer, lit by hopping lanterns;

comet tails flash
amongst skeletal frames.

Hope unfurls –
April’s pennant *****;
rasped by the
spring lizard’s tongue.

There was a thinker called Hume,
Whose bundle theory did bloom.
So, what of my self?
A curious elf,
Alone in a unreal room!

Cherries –
bound by blood knot.

Molten passion –
plump, ripe, moist, alluring.

Bolted stems –
anchored in the deepest flesh.

To wrench apart –
would shatter the world.

Lung's heaving,
Breath trapped in treacle pools.

Lake blue lips, quince skin -
Larghetto drowning.

A shadow that aches;
tremulous against the cleansing of light.

Disembodied substance.
The cogito?
Or secrets wrapped in secrets,
the invisible reality.

You are a rock
smashing smaller rocks.

However, creeping
fissures crumble stone.

sunlit leaves flutter -
wafting emerald silks
flicking atoms

I am tall - though not tall enough to see beyond the trees.
I hear screeching gulls but are they mere Sirens?
I smell and taste salt on the breeze. Does the ocean pulse?
Cradling my head, I wonder.

...you're a slippery fish;
a swirling rainbow
beyond hook and line.

Dodge well and
weave with perfection.

...a sibilant lullaby.

Conch shell sounds,
sweeping surf
scrubs ***** skin.

Soon -
the lullaby ceases.

Soon -
the sand dune
bassinet creaks.

From plump cushions
with unravelling seams,
silver threads cascade.

A vertiginous plunge
into sullen carpets.

The purple doll
ages but never grows -
unlike broccoli withering
into winter soup.

Fading instead -
cobwebbed, each
thread a singular
nightmare - a set, silky,
smooth malignant mousse -
bleak, black and shiny.

The wind torn sunflowers
hang like broken clockfaces;
leaden pendulums swaying.

Liquid tongues clash and lash;
ephemeral strings and impossible knots.

Forever flowing, forever weaving,
warp and weft the aqueous loom.

...black In petrified repose
takes the shape of
lightning tongues.

And amongst the aroma
of ozone and charcoal crisps,
flakes flutter -
sloughing sadness.

As bland as cloth-strained milk;
a deluge of curd free effluvium runs free.
No cheese, no future.
Just the aroma of decay.

Footfall sang like
glockenspiel chimes,
a metallophone
path of linear strides.
Back and forth, to and fro
jiving in and out of time.

Under the venerable
boughs of the Emancipation Oak,

leaves fell at liberty
into the laps of Afro-Americans.

Lincoln’s proclaimation
sowed acorns amongst dissent;

now mighty oaks grow,
conquering bitter winters.

You are scissors -
steel blades striding
over naked flesh,
sinking like boots into mud -
geysers of frothing blood.

Trip and rust in my guts
you *******;
then sleep in my innards.

... acquiescence to Nature's breath,
blown into the bliss of nothingness.

At the Black Mountain's peak,
the rapture of sundance ripples
across the Golden Valley's leaves.

Once majestic,
the tattered
linen of your
sails sag.

The ripple of
the river is
your poem;

a swirling eddy
the final stanza.

the guitar strings rust
dead skin clings to icy steel
frozen melody