They fall . . . gold ,

         bronze . . . copper . . . and brass

Jeweled like glass

         'n emerald . . . ambered . . . and rubied

The days of my life

         fall autumned . . .

               sudden . . . and fast

specifically:very:yes the gray grows
speaking slowly rainy bones
disheveled drooping vertebrae
c
ambered lovely death .a wrist bangled stupid colour's

      finely pounded grains galloping fleet ovals
the apt pupil dodders and the sky is a *****
why today?rain

There are mirrors
In all our rooms,
Passing them
Without a glance
Isn't vanity,
Isn't chance.
It's inherent in our genes,
The look is more
Than what it seems.
A survival tactic
Of our kind,
To lock our faces
In our minds.
Babies do it,
They're entranced,
The first step
Of the mirror dance.

So, I stopped,
I stared
At my glassy eye;
There I was,
Like an ambered fly
Trapped in the pupil
Of my eye.
Am I
Self-centred,
Narcissistic,
Self-absorbed,
Ego-centric:
Is it conceit,
Or human pride?
Self-doubt chides
My prying eye.

Past the disguise,
I realize,
My baby browns
Have waxed wise,
My outlook's changed
Behind those eyes.

-

four hours into a slow night with little
else to do but sip coffee. images through
the window wound me with new ways
to feel older, draping me out with all the

ribbons from New Year's past which got
ripped from those babies who later grew
up to become waiters and waitresses—

from what i can make out, some kid is
busting a table across the street wearing
a button-down shirt with a black tie,

he will likely work a couple more hours
and head out some place wearing the
reverse of this with an abundance
of youth to flaunt for all those
girls who actively seek

something
                       Better–

Ohhh !
He is looking
this way now !!!
i think..


somehow i feel this brushing of
unfamiliar shoulders as our worlds
of witnessing empties between these
panes of our circumstance, my ambered
line of sight cross–ray'd  with the beams
of his hot-white glare–

i watch dimly as he smiles at that
young lady with the red umbrella
crossing the street between us..

Yeah..

a few blinks later he will disappear
behind a partition and i will then
turn my attention inwards,

day-dreaming away the remainder
of my shift about hopeful
exchanges for

Something–
                        better...


s jones
2021


.

sitting at the old oak table
sipping on cold redemption
thinking back to when i was
not some one else, but far less than myself...

turning memories over to
discover the fossiled  id
and the ambered ego"
damaged, dismembered,
by the time of slow, low moving sadness...
that created glacial time..


now, exploring
the barren forest,
like an inquisitive tourist
hoping to find the keys
to the locks that i left behind
whyfor i will never know...

but the former self has hidden the  relics all too well....
(and we bless them to
their  hidden eternity)

and the cages remain sound
the lack of treasure, remains
unfound.

...and i .....and i....and i
can retrace my steps...back
to the days ....of serenity...
and forsake the turbulance
for  the  promise of sunnier days......

sitting at the old oak table
sipping on redemption
...warm and refined....
turning....beauty over
to see....your love reflected
...

It was a warm sunny day.
The sun like a warm breast,
Soft against my cheek.

There was a fantastic mackerel sky
painting the blue.

The mountains were golden
Like eagles wings.

I walked by the hum of the river
And thought of you and I.

As I walked, the sun made love
Through the trees.
I remembered the touch of your hand
As I held it in mine....

I remembered our kiss whilst walking
Through the whiskey ambered leaves
That made the sound of dancing lips.

The smell of steaks in passageways
Came from the graveyard of white
Caravans along the riverbank.

The sweet tobacco-like fragrance
Of peat filtered about the Old Bridge Of Tilt;
made me think of summer holidays
When I was a young lad in Orkney.

I could have written a sonnet
Of birdsong for you;
The songs of thrushes.
Timeless and always sweet
You come to my mind.

The day was wonderful but I wished
That I had spent it just one
More time with you.

©Jack Aylward,
18/4/14

I don’t want to age gracefully, I want to touch the sun and feel engulfing flames. I want my bones exposed upon the plains. Every soul from my past will come to survey. Monocle and stethoscope—does a spark remain?

Only echoes now.

They reflect upon the times I laughed. Grew a garden so high the neighbors cried. Scent of cider and autumn on parade. Painted a house in sage and a deck in grey. The grass cut neatly like a landing strip. Where my skeleton is softly laid.

she slept
on my shoulder
ambered inside heart
to take note
her new wishes..

One warm summer evening, early,
Resting in the cosmos weary
To kip upon a pillowed disk
Within corollas white and blue
Enfolded in one satin petal
Clutching to its gold dust revenue

A bee, black and yellow, sleeping,
Swaying on cosmo's slender stem
Dreaming, gliding with wings abuzz
Dreaming of its flowers tended
Dreaming of many more to come
Dreaming of its royal ambered home
Now so far far away

P. Suess