Pellets of rain pestered the cotton swagged
sky, cloudy purses grew black with scowls
coldly spelling their injustice. A chapter of
sunrays shot shamesless shards, irony perched

between chaperones; a truce maybe, rains restless
pathways of rays bleating their appeal, rooming in,
black balaclavas, rooting for blue beams,
itching bony beads of cloudy sweat, out of reach

In turn, limbs colour coated grassy spaces
tides of sun worshippers laughed out loud
their inner duets, hand in hand the sweltering
dance floor bathed them, sidling cotton clouds

Swiftly passing the sunscreen, laying back, beckoning
the sun from beneath neatly positioned cloud baubles.
Within an inch of our lives the splodges began, light
heavy, heavier, to the swell of April in full tune

Instantly the greedy green spaces groaned, ejected
sweet harmony, rolled out goodbyes, tongued stiff
breeze longing for its thirst to be quenched, and so
torrents rushed in where fools once lay

A lonely sunscreen bottle, remnant of warm
minds soaking heat, long days teasing into belief.
Yet April fooled us once more with beguiling banter,
chorused a chanting cheating lullaby of lamentation

The gaze that sought my eyes were fierce,
Dark and brooding, right through they pierce,
My toes curled in fear and lust,
The thought of both left me aghast.
Shamelessly reveling in the fire in his eyes,
Melt I did, as my breath quickened.
Yes and No blurred as I answered him,
His silence in response rang through my chest.
He stood so patient, impossible for a man his kind,
For an acknowledgement, a nod, or a smile.
I lowered my eyes from the scorching heat,
My mind reeling in the endless tales it spun.
A foot away lay my temptation,
That held all my attention,
To give in was all I wanted,
For the rest would be in his arms,
A 'no' still lingered, holding me steadfast.

rhapsodic pastoralism
as beguilingly bucolic as tempera gardens,
where nature’s wild beauty
is domesticated and made
into a safe space for dream and play,
reverie and revelry.

with the bright dawn
chatter of birdsong
it seems to reach your ear across distance,
like a girl singing happily to herself
while walking down the road
on the other side of your garden wall.

It’s a lovely restaurant.

   Lovely.

   There is no artificial lighting. Just hundreds of candles that flicker from recessed niches in the walls and on every table.

   And you’ve done everything right so far. From seating me in my chair, with the slight brush of your knuckles across my bare shoulders as you removed my light jacket, to taking my purse from my bloodless fingers to place it next to my feet, you have excelled. As you knelt beside me and ran your fingertips up my bare leg you lift your perfect lips into a melting smile that promises everything.

   I want everything

   And there you are, sitting across from me. So perfect, my dream, my nightmare, my man of the hour, my choice. The candle light is kind to you and as I stare over the glass rim of a red wine I’m enthralled by your voice. I don’t know what you're saying but you just have to keep talking and I’ll just keep redrawing you in the candlelight.

   You have utterly, beguilingly captured me.

   The candle on the table has lit a fire in your eyes. I imagine the fires of Hell burn there and shiver at the thought of all that wickedness. The way you ran your fingers through your hair has tricked me into thinking that two small (very ****) horns protrude from your head. It’s an illusion, but one that I’m happy to run with.

   As you pick up my hand and feather kisses along my fingertips I feel the brush of the stubble on your face which I’m sure wasn’t there when we walked hand in hand to our table but the ****** hair is unmistakable. Is it possible I’m here with a Lycanthrope? Will our evening end with me running bare foot through the woods while a howl scrapes delicious shivers down my spine? Will I fall to my knees, a victim of the beast as it stalks me, scenting the wind, marking it’s prey, spying me and leaping to devour me? One glance at the full moon suggests I might be in for a wild night.

   In the candlelight you morph into all of my fantasies. But now, I’m just hungry.

   The illusion is just too hard to hold. I haven’t eaten since my last foray into the mortal world and I’m too tired to hold onto the hope that I can make it past reality.

   The restaurant drops away. The candles burn down to one lowly guttering torch and you're just a little boy (next to my 712 years) standing in a cave, where I have lured you and you're more than aware that you're not desert, you’re the main meal and the adrenaline coursing through your beautiful veins have my fangs dropping and my eyes smoldering but don’t worry, I can make it pleasurable, if I want to, it depends whether my fantasies have been strong enough, but I will respect you…

   Of course!

Why is it so arduous
for us to believe we are
beguilingly startling
creatures as none?

Whilst we look at others
we call animals and remain,
befuddled by the perfection
of a nature we reclaim,

temporary beings
roaming freely a land
of prosperous marvels
releasing an infinity

of colours, delicate those
of uncountable flowers,
green that of trees
erecting forests of auburn,

as we spectate the dance
of stones raising mountains,
following the streams
sourcing from them,

cascading into rivers
torrents pouring into
shimmering oceans
unfolding to the limits

of our sight,
where water touches the sky
and we stare marvelling,
at sunset giving birth

to myriad stars iridescent
on black canvas.

Why is it so arduous
for us to believe we are
beguilingly startling
creatures as none?

VI

Several hours to the nearest coast
away for a night and day is all
our landlocked lives would allow.

That first time we arrived at night,
down the steepest hill to the road’s end,
to wind and rain, and a hardly visible sea.

Then up three steep stairs we climbed,
to that attic room where opening
its window on a November night

we sat in its deep-silled space
to see the waves seething below us,
waves vying for room in a bay

crowded with rolling forms
of water eager to break and fling out
foam and ****, spray and stone.

Later and despite the rain
we walked the length of a beach so dark
our shoes could hardly guide us home.

Always the incessant sounding sea.
High above a drama of moon and clouds
throwing jagged shadows on the wet sand.

Caught in this play of natural things
how could we not hold these images
ever closer to the imagination’s heart?

VII

I’ve come again
to my favourite place:
below the coarse grass landward,
above the wet sand seaward.

This zone of discovery,
my well-found land of treasure,
rich in bewildering textures.
Some of it I could do without,
but even the plastic is
beguilingly ornamental.

I carry with this bag of mine my third eye.
I will collect and even curate (in the field)
ephemeral exhibitions on suitable surfaces.
Never camera-shy these found objects.

Later, they may appear
on my studio table, or pinned
against the wall, then primed
with carborundum on
a collographic plate, stilled
into life for the purposes of art.

Whatever the object may be,
it carries my tide-mark,
a quality sign endorsing a choice
made on a deserted beach,
and proved to be right
when placed in my hand.
It registers rightful ownership.
Who knows, one day
it might embody something
more than an image of itself.

That ‘merry wanderer of the night’
Goodfellow Robin (our sweet Puck)
lends his name to the pin-cushion
gall, the wind-brought bedeguar
born and bred on rosa arvinsis.

A mass of mossy filament
sticky-branched it turns to
green then pink as autumn
falls, wearing winter’s crimson
‘Fore it dons a reddish-brown.

Inside ‘til spring
this tissued home with food
becomes a womb for
wasps upon the stem,
upon the branch, upon the tree.

How beguilingly
these wood-land growths
are so confined: beneath
the gentle rose - sub rosa
parthenogenesis divine

Her heart, beguilingly  florescent, spoke to mine,in signs invisible
when the night wore her darkest  cloak,making me lose my way
when I didn't know which way to turn and stood perplexed
her love spreads magic, emits colors, eloquent and sincere
pleasing not only to my eyes but heart too in tune with my beats.

Some times we were birds,wings lift us  involuntarily above winds
we would climb up through dark dark clouds, that wore thunder bolts
her love takes me by hand , navigates, her fluorescence was in full play,
love makes us favorites of winds,raging waves, sprays and water.

Under water love showed us magical colors,melting drops of bluegreen
tinged light, spoke tales of love to our entropic  hearts, that listened,
across the seas we swam propelling mind through incredible depths,
underwater castles waited for us , but in each other we were lost.

i open the door to the
crisp autumn air
the smell of eucalypt
and salt...

first frost has fallen,
a light fairy dusting
of sparkling crystals
shimmer beguilingly
on the green lawn.

dissected by trail of cat prints
leading to a mess
of blue and black feathers.
this was one early bird,
who should have stayed in bed?

and on the rocks,
near the koi pond,
framed by the early sun.
the black and white cat
from down the road,
washes it's face....
with long clawed paws.

inside the house,
my less ferocious two
settle for chicken biscuits
and the warmth
of recently vacated beds.

I sigh and mourn the loss
of yet another wren....
before cleaning the evidence away.

the black and white cat watches,
with golden, gleaming and wholly unrepent eyes.
before slinking off, behind the lilacs.

so now, peace is restored....
and the water burbles gently across the rocks.
while the frost melts away
and the sun gains strength
to face another...
glorious autumnal day.

These         little       moments      that      always      bring
little          feelings    which        crave        her          sight
moments    which     bring           her        words      back
that            crave         her           voice         so           stirring
always        her         words          so      beguilingly  deceitful
bring         sight         back       stirring     deceitful   despair

Everything on this gelid morning speaks only dead languages.
Change your mind. Consider it a beguilingly blank canvas.
Slather it with the random pigments of your imagination.
Go for a stroll and practice random acts of sadistic charity.
Inhale the exquisite frondescence of naked branches.
Focus your neurons on everything you have forgotten.
******* incessantly to Mozart's Requiem. Honor his memory.
Unleash your nukes. Annihilate Canada. Destroy winter for good.
Make your lover a garland of cassowary feathers. Impress her.
Concentrate on growing horrifically profuse ***** hair.
Study the nonexistent texts of forgotten Uzbecki ascetics.
Raise fearsome armies of rabid Chinese lawn gnomes. Attack.
Try to knit String Theory while contemplating theoretical macramé.
Drink cider vinegar to defuse the carcinogenic dangers of politics.
Attempt to complete a peace treaty with gravity. Concede nothing.
Build a launch pad. Hurl rusting Ramblers into low earth orbit.
Collect ingredients. Home brew ******, absinthe and aphrodisiacs.
Test drive a luxury submarine in your neighbor's swimming pool.
Smash the endless contemporary Conga Line of Dumb. Think about it.
Surrender to uncommon sense for a change. Avoid the ordinary.
Give peace a chance. Endless war has left it lonely and depressed.
Admit that everyone is well and truly ******. Relax. Breathe.
Proclaim the advent of the poetry of the apocalypse,
but take care not to write any of it down yet. Go slowly.
Tomorrow is another day to be filled. Keep some options open.

I was excited
by the flaming brightness in your eyes,
how you titillated me
with your deep stare,
inviting me to indulge
in your butterscotch soft flesh,
your handsome black hair,
so filled with wondrous waves,
making me long to touch your head
and bask in your beauty.

Your lips were so beguilingly delicious,
a place that I desired to escape
inside of and feel your manhood
overpower me so incredibly,
yielding to every delicate depiction
inside your harmonious body,
wanting to feel your waist,
your developing chest,
your dark-brown *******,
hold you so closely,
my lips kissing your shoulders,
massaging your collarbone,
your neck, your manly arms,
drifting inside your fragrant frame.

I respond to the rivers of your heart,
swimming inside sultry waves
to the nation of your greatness,
to the fascinating floors of your core,
to grand lands where the romance
never dies out between you and me,
to press my face against yours
and enjoy every moment of it.