Poetry

Below is a smattering of some of the general musings I have come up with over the years. Dylan Thomas I am not, but that’s not why we do it.

 

Love

What is this malformed destiny?

A spectre glares above your audacious heart.

Know you not your place,

Dancing between the strings,

From which the godlike puppets masquerade.

Death I say is immortal furies cure

From which there is no free sufferance

Nor delightful dalliance of which you may tire.

Love, love

Will not the stars themselves alight

That black carriage to the timeless place

From which only the dead light of winter may glimpse.

Amidst the startling chaos

Of a most visible sundering of the heavens

‘Whose long lived writ

Was wrought in inky starlight

Long before your blood was hot or cold’

You wish and bathe

In the mournful light of long dead stars.

You would be so brazen

As to conjure your own magic?

And that spell, that man-made fabric of the heart,

Is the cure to every divine malady.

Love is god and grace

And the link that forms the trinity of our hearts.

For love be humanities transcendental fusion

United forever beyond the caged heart and the firmament of our passion.

Bury me, bury me with love alone

And I will know a heaven of my own making.

I am nothing but this,

A form spun from the singularity of my love

And to this blind soul

I shall retreat in death.

 

Rum and Gin and Maud-d-Lin

 

There are places up there.

Far from the heat of any star.

Clouds of unknown quanta, raining uncertainty down onto far off mortal minds.

The past is there,

Where the winters dark is so cold,

As to cause an echo of our time.

As with the rest of creation,

It flies ever further away from us,

Into a future we shall never know again.

 

Green eyed wonder

 

Emerald envy

Is split by the darkling prism

Of every stout looking glass.

And beyond the parable, shimmers night,

Dark beyond truth.

Yet still sparkling, in the lie of possibility.

And even if time is but a gaudy veil

Floating over the standing still

Of heavens indecision,

I am proud of frozen limbs, and frozen lips

And the jealousy to which I aspire.

For is man not a beast made marvel?

And are not all such miracles marvellous,

By the deception of the shadowy dawn.

 

Streetlight

 

Streetlight

Orange glow

A gentle soul

A distant sound

White lights mingle

Darkness laps the shore

Moonlight reveals the cracks.

This is the night

Our delight

Unkept promises

Rising fears.

Hope silence and prayer

Streetlight pure and fair.

Our meeting place

Our gateway

Watchers write

Flicker and falter

Streetlight.

 

Sorrow be not

 

Sorrow is the spider,

light footed in the night.

The shining eye that passes by,

leaving the memory of a fright.

Sorrow does not shock but creeps,

In foundations and the soulful deeps.

Sorrow is the ferryman’s oar

As it turns the Styx towards the shore.

There is no sweetness here but life,

For sorrow is sunlight, bright and rife.

Sorrow is the wolf that howls

Longing into the dark,

Sorrow was our scratching claws

Which we raked upon the bark.

Sorrow knows no bounds but these

Whistlings beneath the winter trees,

The still cold air through which we stare

At every birth the Summer sees.

I feel it ill to cast such shade

Over the promise of the morrow,

With all this talk of weakling roots

Which draw upon the sorrow.

So I say this to all life’s dreamers,

On whose visions

May no saint or sinner tread.

Leave my words on the pages writ,

And leave the sorrow to the dead.

 

Clouds

 

Red titans in the morning

Foreboding

Heavenly mist.

Grey lurkers

Wait to weep

Stern and silent

Thunderously violent.

Warring brothers

Electrified

Carved up by the heat.

And seven billion muses

Vaporised starships

Fleets of dreams.

The thoughts of the universe

Hang in the frozen sky.

Whirling webs

Spiders legs.

Liquid tapestry

This infinite sky

This unnamed ocean.

All our days

Encapsulate

In cloud formations

Accumulate.

 

Time, Unseen

 

Time

Unseen

Tattooed into the fabric of the world

Eroding away with tidal forces

At the coastline of my dearest islands.

I mourn not

That I must become one with the water which wastes me,

Only that we will be parted

Drowned on different days.

I should likely go first

And become a small part

Of the universe which pulls you down.

My darling,

I will wait for you there

In the trenches of our love

Clinging to the oft remembered reefs

Swirling madly, endlessly,

Through the maelstrom of our union soul.

Look for me in the dark water

The cool water, the blue water.

Look for me in time,

Unseen.

 

Porcelain Nightscape

 

I might crack the china black

Should I lean on the jet shine clean

Of your porcelain nightscape.

That riveted sun

Has faded from sight

But it’s shards

Linger like shining fingers

On the forging of your

Porcelain nightscape.

You might say that rusting red

Was in the mix

When poured and splashed

Against your milk day moon

From which the night pours like a lagoon

Around your

Porcelain nightscape.

And when all the shattering

Asunder

Peeled and cracked

Like steam rolled thunder

Shall all the shaken pieces

That on cloth are silky creases

Be laid bare before

The poets scissors

And starry threads where are

Begin

For all was golden

Beneath the hidden rooftops

On our night of porcelain.

 

Heaven sent

 

Life is an assault on heaven.

If you make it over the wall then let me know,

Fly our flag.

Open the gates for me,

When I fall from the ladder.

When I falter, sound the charge.

Drag me in, through mortal sin.

For I would be a prisoner of angels,

Than free upon the Earth,

To ruin myself

And fall further still.

All heaven needed do was invade my mind,

To conquer my soul soon after.

For if I can imagine paradise then what must it think of me?

Not the heaven of crosses or crescents.

Nor the afterlife of too many tears.

No, this is the heaven of dreams,

That last fantasy,

Which lasts forever beyond the breath of death.

 

The entropy of fate

 

Beyond trinity

even in the darkness

There was some cyclonic light

spinning in the depths of the pondering mind.

That bleak matter

doth lie at the heart

of those who contemplate its make

and some dark energy

from which the strings are made

shakes like a universe of violins

which shriek in harmony of the creation’s destiny

And though you may be a ghost

long before the sound washes over

you will listen anyway

for the echoes might entertain

long before the note is played.

Such is the chaos of our order

that might come early the dawn

before our sunset late.

And the heat will burn

like the invisible fire

of the entropy of fate.

This arrow in time you follow

points not forward but up from down below

beneath the past it lingers blind

out beyond the falling snow.

 

Save some songs for the morning

 

I would save some songs for the morning

Night it seems

Is the maker of its own kind of music

Which screeches like chalk diamonds

Across the belly of an angel

Which creaks like heaven’s gate

Opening but a finger’s breadth

And sighs like the space faring sea

Devoid of taunting trenches

In which to pour its misery.

 

Paper Planet

 

Paper planet

Burned crisp

By the gaze

Of your wanton sun.

Printed on the gulleys and moons

Was a recipe of spring.

Echoing in the catacombs

Of the empty world ye burned

Was the laughter

Of a child unborn.

Pour your scorn on that

You dark star apparition

For an echo and a memory

Trumps eternally the never ever.

 

Lunar Maria

 

Lunar Maria, Lunar Maria
I sit here in your dust,
In your hide I spied a thousand times
The dreams that turned to rust.

Although I could have chosen
A different heaven sent,
To you I fled my doomsday hour
When my earthly will was spent.

For there can be no better dwelling
To hear the silence of the night,
Than the lunar land of quiet telling
Where the darkness meets the light.

Lunar Maria, Lunar Maria
In your dust I revel gladly,
For silver soil knows the spinners toil
And thus I plant my tale sadly.

For without the woe I came to know
We’d surely have never met,
And now my smile is silver snow
As my tears are dusty wet.

 

I wandered across the frozen emerald sea, betwixt the shadows of those old timber ships. They had not moved in a century, save to the sway of the endless tide of time. She does not freeze, my lady of the hourglass. She watches, and we all decay under her gaze, even the ice, and the timber ships and the shadows that they bleed.

 

The Moon

 

The moon is an awkward guest

It stands solemnly

With nowhere else to go

And nothing of silence to say.

It shuffles around the room

And though it will eventually

Slope out the dawning door

It is present a while yet.

Present and silent as we forget

And though it will say nothing

To any other soul

In heaven or by earthly reflection

It will speak to us of ourselves

And all we did beneath its light.

 

In solitude

 

You will find in solitude

The world may be its loudest.

For there the voice speaks

And in silence

You are choiceless

But to be subjected

To the wisdom of your desire

And the sound

Of the breaking

Of your own soul.

Seek them out, fellow travellers

On times road.

For without their damned murmur

You will register the frequency

Of your own destruction

And the echo of the end of days.

It walks backwards along the pendulum to greet you.

You can never stop his footsteps

Only slow them down

Lose their echo

In the shadow of a fellow traveller.

 

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Beyond youth

And the formation of our bloodline

What joy has life to offer?

What pinpricks of light shall we see

Before the blanket of darkness?

Here’s maudlin me, and my questions.

Years later than before

I break off no saddened pleasure

From this soul born rock

With which I am impaled

And weighed down.

Truly be my body a fire that burns,

And the soul consumed

Was not a measure of how long it furied,

But by how brightly it lit the skies.

 

Red reels and the winter pilgrim

 

We languish in our saloon lagoon

Behind us the tonic fountain flows

Gin rocks splash confusion in our eyes

And cause ripples of illogical dissent

Ever masters after dark

We talk of the forgotten

Even as their memories fade.

We talk of the pilgrim winter

The stern season we will never know again.

The brandy in my pocket

Holds a bleak promise

In it’s swirling brown eyes.

We roll into the night

With a fate that spinning seals

Three red eyes look back at us

red reels, red reels, red reels….