"Midnight Revellers" (Entry 184)

Join the throng when days long gone.
To party through the whole night too.
Take my hand, sing 'Auld Lang Syne'.
Soon the bars will be all mine.
People watch without a care.
Midnight revellers. I want to be there.

**********

Happy New Year!

Hope 2012 leaves you with fond memories.

May 2013 bring you many, many more!

"Dissolve to Memory" (Entry 183)

I close my eyes
to windows bright shine
to sense white flash
of negative shapes dash
and dance in darkened space.
Only to feel them float and dissolve
to be memory in deepened soul.

"Case to Place" (Entry 182)

Colour coordinated, ironed and sorted.
Piles remade. Folded and laid.
Ready for placement,
in the case, meant
for the vacation.
I need a holiday after all this preparation!

"Discovered Country" (Entry 181)

Mapped out before me.
Everything in its place.
Known beyond the back of your hand.
This discovered country.
This home.
My land.

"Weigh the Night's Wait" (Entry 180)

To seep into sleep.
Body ooze as you doze.
Night's wait will lift as you drift.
Eye lids weighed as you're sedated.
Forget the pounds as you float out of bounds.
Lands of dream lighter than they seem.

"Faith of Spirit" (Entry 179)

The strength of human spirit in adversity,
strikes the soul's desire and diversity.
When splintered and left broken.
That's when it proves faith's not a token.

"Winter's Fare" (Entry178)

Mince pies and Christmas cake.
Wrapping paper and shoppers sweat.
Promise of snow, foggy morns.
Gingerbread men, let's not forget.
Cone tree pine and mulled wine.
Makes up the fare of winter's air.

*********

A Merry Christmas and Happy Holidays to one and all!

Enjoy the fun and festive food, don't forget to have a ball!

"Stay Awake" (Entry 177)

I so want to stay awake.
I know I've been told to sleep.
I pretended I was, a fake.
I don't want a look, only a peep.
They said he'll be here tonight.
Is that hooves I hear at a canter?
I've been good all year, I know it's alright.
I just want this eve to spy on Santa!

"A Kitty without a Key" (Entry 176)

The manky grey moggy
sits and waits each day,
on the front porch, to see with
eyes like emblazoned LED torches,
for someone to feed him,
to love him still.
This forgotten kitty
so eager yet.

"Gone" (Entry 175)

Every morn, the same.
Gone and left lame.
Reliant on help.
Scream in pain and yelp.
Can't hear the cry.
To wait and lie.
Until you return to me.
Don't allow yourself to see.
The dark hole in which I dwell.
My personal daily forgotten hell.

"Vicious Viscous Vapour" (Entry 174)

Steam rising.
Mist surprising.
Smog envelopes.
Fog develops.
Vapour dwells.
Gas swells.
Cigarette smokes
to cancerous chokes.

"The Knightmares Quest" (Entry 173)

They diluted her dreams,
these shifting of shadows,
creating chaos by kneading knightmares and stirring her sleep.
They manipulated her mind until she screamed stop!
Time tumbled as she fought her fears and captured her consciousness.
Bedtime battle won.

"A Secret Symbol" (Entry 172)

A coin (which is no longer tender)
embedded in a champagne cork.
Its symbolism only known to me,
as he who created it has long forgotten.
Yet it means a turn in life profound.
The meaning only for me.
(Tender to my heart.)
A secret never to be spoken.

"The Long Way" (Entry 171)

Meander on the slow walk.
A day where you don't need to be any place but
here.
Bask in the laziness of the hours.
Take the long way round to nowhere special.
The best destination in the universe.

"Still Summer" (Entry 170)

Winter fashions stacked high on racks,
pushing out bikinis and shorts and minis,
to wooly scarfs who laugh at ageing suntan lotion,
but it's still summer though change in motion,
shouts "Back to School" with uniform rules,
like stitch in the label.
Then the Christmas table,
with presents piled high.
Can't they stay in the present,
it's only July!

"Cafe Conjuring" (Entry 169)

She liked to sit in the quiet corner of the cafe.
To stir good fortune along with the sugar.
To conjure calmness on spilt milk.
To meddle in magick beside the muffins.
To sprinkle dreams on top of the chocolate.
To shape love within the foamed hearts.

She watched the truth of life descend on her fellow companions,
she sent out positivity to all even though they never spoke to her.
The circle of life,
full of beginnings and endings they thought.
She knew different.
If they only asked her.

"Sun's Journey Across The Bay" (Entry 168)

The cool dawn shimmers and shivers.
Anticipation of a new day risen.
The glance of rays on glassy waves.
Smouldering boiling frothing a broth of middays hues,
where rainbow crystalline spray brakes and cascades back to the whole.
Bathe in the afternoon's heated perfection
as heat and light conjoin in swimmers delight.
Then dipping sun sends on last hurrah
in twilight's ripple seen from afar.

"All Screech - Less Tweet" (Entry 167)

All dissected.
A row deflected.
By wrong word at alternate time.
Gossip! They did not say that!
Nothing is simple.
You calling me simple?
It all has to mean something.
You started something.
In the bitter twitter.

"As Above, So In The Deep" (Entry 166)

The world swam into haze,
in the crazy dreams of unaware moments
hooked together in puzzles.
Click!
The ocean parted into darkness.
Alone.
The First.
Spark!
The switch
clicked to the trillion voices
of the stars
which sang like fish
in tropical depths.

"A Turn to the Dark Sentence" (Entry 165)

The devil of distinction is purely the inclination.
To delve into phases well above your station.
To take the phrase and be amazed at how it turns to darkness.
Live out the sentence, it's all pretentious.

"A Soldier's Soul" (Entry 164)

For on distant air, a breath is formed
and taken from the new hero born.
His wail of disconcerting depth.
a deepened cry of lover wept.
Then the sword, heavy in hand, blood dripped.
A soul departs as chest and life is ripped.
Lament on the fallen soldier born.
A story cut and now it's told.

"A Witches Prayer" (Entry 163)

In the end, we prayed.

Crowded together in the cells.

The only water from the damp rocks.

We chanted for help.

In the end, that was all we could do.

Persecuted for being different,

for being healers... and female.

Accused of dancing with the devil.

UNTRUE! NOT RIGHT!

Guilty in their eyes, but not ours.

We lived in harmony with nature

and nurtured the gifts of cosmos.

But we lived in a man's world

who would turn any phrase to suit himself.

So we prayed for death.

Not revenge for their actions,

or to die by their hand -

in torture - in flames - in agony beyond screams.

Their punishment. And they called us evil.

We prayed that we would be taken in this night,

before dawn's discovery.

To go to our light, in our rightful place, at our choosing.

Not suicide, but a request - granted.

"Explanation Squelched" (Entry 162)

He never listened.
Bombastic and exploding over her sentences.
Never letting her fini-
Covering her in spite, spittle and righteousness.
Always the shake of the round red blood-pressured head.
High and mighty.
Explanations squelched.
Squashing her opinions and individuality.
She was alright to be different as long as it was the same as his.
Broken and unable to speak.
She sobbed into the darkness of his soul.

"The Fruits of Our Life's Labours" (Entry 161)

Oranges and apples. In orchards, sun-dabbled.
Strawberries and limes. Remember sweet times.
Bananas and cherries, and succulent berries.
Lemons and pears. Fruits that we shared.

"The Pathway to Him" (Entry 160)

He takes me on a journey,
beyond where I've been before.
Dips and folds.
The contours of his land.
Forests and valleys and unexplored places to investigate.
To map. An adventure in touch and smell and taste.

"Darken Eve Invites" (Entry 159)

I'll rattle the windows and enter through cracks.
I'll cause frights in the dark, send shivers up backs.
I'll shriek like a ghost, and moan like a ghoul.
For I'm the Night Wind, and terror's my tool.

"The List of Wrong-doings" (Entry 158)

Keep not a list of this.
Of those that felt of injury along the way.
Be it twist of heart or nudge to soul.
Think not on negative,
for it restricts the flow.
Let it be and positivity the goal.

"Oh, to fly!" (Entry 157)

I've always hoped that magic rays would beam
for me to be a lucky one to have the flying dream.
To take to the skies and soar and swoop.
For in my freedom, I'd loop-de-loop.
And so I wait, sleep and be still.
Oh, to fly and wanting wishes fulfill.

"Photo - B&W" (Entry 156)

Turning the black pages of older scrapbook,
so lovingly made by maiden aunt.
A chance to put her stamp on history.
Long gone now,
but not forgotten.
As her eyes still stare from black and white photographs.
There!
There's one with her.
Who's that man?
Strong arm - her waist.
Handsome beau made her laugh.
But only in this one photograph.

"Time Shadows Lost" (Entry 155)

There is an echo 

that resonates

from memory 

and lurks

in shadows never to be found.

Their hidden there,

can't be grasped.

They are regrets

of experience past.

Let them go.

*****************************

155 down, only 400 to go!

Thank you for staying with me on this journey.

Please feel free to leave a comment.

Thank you.

Thank you.

Thank you.

With love, The Crafty Scribe

"Dark December" (Entry 154)

Dark thoughts desiccate on a dreary December day.
No fairies dance or sugar plum delight,
as dreams implode due to sold out signs.
Presents not present.
No alternative will do.
Christmas shopping descends to gloom.

"Awake" (Entry 153)

There used to be a time when he would brag about this.
"Man! Didn't get to sleep all night! Didn't even... even get to bed!"
A wry wink from bleary low beams.

Tonight, he was in bed. Awake.
Eyes forced shut only to trigger spring back.
The rest of the world at peace.
He could feel it.
Not him.

He knew why.

Alone.
Echoing siren rattled through the room.
The sound carried through static air from the Interstate.
He gripped the sweat soaked sheet,
and thrashed to turn transfixed at the alien object by his bed.
"They're coming to get me!"
He screamed as he stared at the blood stained dagger.

"Plastic Wrapped Panic" (Entry 152)

I panic!
Thrashing at steeled plastic.
Beyond human touch.

They told me it would be like this.
(But I never thought what it would be like.)

I volunteered.
We all did.
Test subjects for a new tomorrow.

Trapped within the perspex coffin.
A prised prized specimen.
I am.
Seen.
Not to be opened for 100 years.
The Longevity Experiment.
Alive but not living.
Breathing without the breath of kiss.
Existing void of experience.
One hundred years of this?

I panic!

"Here and Now" (Entry 151)

What can we hold?
Be it nothing.
A grasp at insubstantial time.
And yet.
We do.
Caught up not to notice that
we only have now.
The moment that's here.
Now gone.
We gather thoughts to memories and spend
what we do have
on planning a distant future
as far as the next dimension.
Intangible - never got.

"Memories of Another Life" (Entry 150)

I remember Toledo,
when the cars roared and
the girls wanted to be chased but stayed chaste.
The drive-in movie was the place to be,
or Joe's Soda and Milk Bar on Montgomery Street.
My letterman jacket worn proudly on the shoulders of May.
A life not mine, not now, remembered too well.

"Three Days of Rain" (Entry 149)

The height of summer.
It rained for three days.
Weatherman said heat wave.
It rained for three days.

Can't go out, what a bummer!
It rained for three days.
It's as dark as a cave.
Oh, we love British summer ways.

"Lost My Bearings" (Entry 148)

Where oh, where?
I've lost my bear.
Please, oh, pleasey things!
He's wearing his favourite rings.
Can you help? I can't find my way.
Did you see him on this day?
I'm sure I'm on the right track.
He's easy to recognise, and that's a fact!

"Life Story" (Entry 147)

Childhood.
Scattered with pain and time alone.
Made up with warmth and laughter of home.
Welcomed and cared for. Taught me right.
Proper behaviour rewarded by an all-inclusive life.

"Underneath" (Entry 146)

They manipulate you with their good intentions.
On the surface, applauded.
So wonderful!
What a saint!
Iceberg smiles hide ulterior motive.
With one hand, they give.
And the other - they grasp and tear
Leaving you bear.
You can't complain or explain.
No one will believe you.
The Titanic to their devastation.
Hit hard and ripped apart.

"Waste of a Life" (Entry 145)

Awake. Too late. Can't move with aches.
Left to fester in sweat and vile.
Count the hours - here awhile.
Attempt to rise, to brush and wash.
This is my life. What a loss!

"Cost" (Entry 144)

To make it safe, to build the dome.
To create environment that we call home.
To protect the fortunate who we say best.
To secure survival we forgot the rest.
To perpetual life this is what it cost.
To carry humanity billions were lost.

"Fog Surfing" (Entry 143)

In a cloud.
A dank dark dismal rain-drenched fog.
Surf on through.
Dazzled by hazy headlamps glaring back,
Reflecting gloom and despair.
No high beamed hope today.
Oh, to ride and reach the destination.

"Postcard" (Entry 142)

Dear You.
It's me.
The weather's been hot.
Been doing this and that and not a lot.
Been eating loads and drinking beer.
Quite a nice country.
Wish you were here!

"Lost with Me" (Entry 141)

When I die. So will my laughter.
No more cheers to the success of others,
And tears will no longer flow.
They will go.

When I'm gone, the world will carry on
And so will you.
So think of me along your way.
Don't remember the things that died with me.
Think on the memories that live with you.

The Dealt Hand" (Entry 140)

Get used to it.
This is your life.
If you feel like it's a backhand,
The world and the cards you were dealt.
Or rigged, a cheat or a sleight.
Change it all!
Get off your knees. It's you who's knelt.

"Possibilities" (Entry 139)

I wait - for possibilities to catch me.
There's a whole host out there, I'm told.
Look I'm ready and here and - no show.
For you must chase them, get out and be bold!

"Cut It Off" (Entry 138)

Scissors. Clippers. Shaver on grade.
Cut it all off, before I'm too late.
Mirror checked. Nod approval and paid.
Back in six weeks. Hair growth is our fate.

"Awake. Oh, to Sleep" (Entry 137)

Awake. Neon digits warp. Pillow flattened
and sworn at. Open eyes forced shut.
Can't close down the mind.
Never a comfortable spot.
'Til dawn. Worn out fighting to delight in...
Asleep.
At the wrong time.

"A Regular Week's End" (Entry 136)

At the weekend. It rained.
It always pours. It always does.
Plans made and broken and rearranged.
Making the best of it.
Waiting for a break.
GIVE ME A BREAK!
Before Sunday's eve comes 'round.

"To Nail Time" (Entry 135)

The long languid humid afternoon took its toll as she painted her nails.
Time was on her side, the heat was not.
Lacquer congealed as she stroked across each acrylic tapered talon.
Ridges formed in thick glop making the tortuous task tiresome, but not... impossible.
Base coat to
two coats of "Impatient Kiss", a bitten blood-soaked scarlet tone.
Then topped off in top coat to gleam, gloss and even.
But even then -
All she had to do was wait.

"Last Stop Before The Long Journey" (Entry 134)

Train slowed its tranced tracked tack.
"Baston Longacre"
Last stop before arrival at her own.
Not her own. His.
Last breath on a long journey.
Too long.
Tip of the country to the end.
Many engines. Five changes.
A stop away.
He knew she was coming.
He'd be at the station.
Waiting.
Expectantly.
With flowers.
Probably crimson Roses. Her favourite.
He knew that.
She'd told him. In emails.
Was she ready?
Not for flowers, but what they meant.
Love.
Their love.
Together.
Their relationship had been easy,
with miles apart,
only video calls, phones and emails to carry them on.
It had been fun.
Exciting.
Was that a crime?
Now what?
Reality.
Living together.
It's what they wanted. What they planned.
She stood on the platform at Baston Longacre and watched the train move on.

"At A Price" (Entry 133)

The Estate Agent chattered in the background,
Something about south-facing built-in cupboards.
They glided through the first floor,
Ooohing and Aaahing at fireplaces and Aga ranges.
Then tackled the stairs to the next floor of the spectacular five storey town house.
They couldn't believe the asking price, Georgian, in such good condition too!
That was until they struck the blind of the second bedroom window. Then they discovered... and knew.

"Tale of the Un-lasted" (Entry 132)

I planted seeds in the pot, and watched them finally sprout.
Fed and watered as they grew, as the sun came out.
Soon buds appeared and unfurled.
Scarlet poppy petals met the world.
But within a day, they wilt so frail.
As nothing lasts, not even this tale.

"Stripped" (Entry 131)

You stripped the mantle to show the naked me.
Then whipped and flayed my skin to find how inner self can be.
But dreams that me and I will tend to be told only when bidden.
Along with my thoughts and memories, are shown by me alone, stay hidden.

"Bits of the Bad" (Entry 130)

Pick your feet's hard skin.
Never put things in the bin.
Picking your nose and toes too.
Never put down the seat on the loo.
Scratches in strange and weird places.
Centre of hall leaves the cases.
Burps and snores and always farts.
Leaves all a mess then departs.
Much on my list and more than this.
But I'll always adore and love you to bits.

"There" (Entry 129)

I hadn't expected a surprise,
As I stood there with bright full moon eyes.
We stepped off the plane,
Queued up by the chain
and entered back to these lands.

I hadn't expected a surprise,
For when we left there were no goodbyes.
But there you all were,
The hello'ed shouts all a blur.
We're glad we are back in your hands.

"A Change of Clothes" (Entry 128)

They were given to me, these genes.
Adapted from babe through teens.
I'm a hand-me-down girl,
Wishing for designer twirl
On life and all that it brings.
No more sad charity thing(s).
For it's time for a better plan.
Of changing clothes, not a fan.
Leave the vintage behind.
Look to future that's my kin(d).

"I was meant to be someone else" (Entry 127)

This isn't my life I'm living.
Let me spell it o.u.t and explain.
I was meant to be someone else.
Someone famous or clever or wealthy,

instead I'm stuck here - an imposter.
Restricted by forces dark and unseen.
This isn't my life I'm living.
Just existing and hoping to be healthy.

...
In fact, when I think, I don't want to be persons otherwise.
Just the better me, the best me I can be. Now that's a surprising surprise!

"Father's Fable" (Entry 126)

A man made to be self-created.
Singer of choral chorus,
Made to wear the khaki too soon.

"A Movement in The Distance" (Entry 125)

All was quiet, apart from nature
Which never stops.
All of humanity, in this part of this island,
Was quiet. As it should be,
As they stood guard.
Then something moved
In the distance,
Beyond the barbed wires, missiles and armed forces.
Between sandstone buildings, something moved.
Flashlights searched out... A stray dog!
No. Not a stray... with an owner out after curfew.
An old hunched woman. A batty lady.
They sigh.
Too early!
She straightens and blazes round after round.
Night turns to day.
Fires, cries and someone or more dies.
Watch out
When something moves in the distance.

"Unfamiliar Roads" (Entry 124)

U-bends. Unseen turns.
To stare around,
Before you know what's there.
Such is life.
And roads.

"Going Underground" (Entry 123)

Depths of suffocating soil surrounds
the casket of the last
breath long gone
and into the decay of seeping underground.
To swell and soften where naught but
wormage and crawled unseen can
listen to the lack of yell.
And yet.
All must return to dust,
all except for
Soul's energetic which will ne'er be destroyed.
Continued existence overjoyed.

***************

HAPPY HALLOWEEN!

"Tuesday Delivery" (Entry 122)

The parcel arrived on Tuesday.
Even though he didn't sign for it.
He didn't need to, you see.
The postman trilled the doorbell,
It came with a cheery smile.
To big for the letterbox,
Feared to leave it outside
(In case of sneaky thieves.)
The grin left with the Postie,
Leaving only the package in his hands,
Which were soon empty,
For the parcel that arrived on Tuesday
Sat unwrapped upon the kitchen counter.
Brown, square, half-a-shoe-box size.
No markings except for postal dents,
Address label, correct amount of Queen's headed stamps
Plus lots of shiny tan sticky tape,
Peeling at the edges,
Crying out to be picked at, lifted and ripped.
His fingers flexed, desiring to tear at the box
And touch the secrets beneath,
But he couldn't.
It wasn't his.

"Broken Promise" (Entry 121)

Promises broken, promises made.
Heart of joy begins to fade.
Promises made, promises broken.
Love's disappointments left unspoken.
Delight turned to lies and deceit.
All turned to dust, because of a cheat.

"Inside The Circle" (Entry 120)

Inside the circle... MagicK happens.
Inside the circle... YOU are between worlds.
Not heavens or Earths
But a place of your OWN making.
Here be Dragons,
The compass takes form of Angels or Spirits.
Inside the circle... YOU are part of the orb.
Inside the circle... ENERGY twirls.

"Bubble" (Entry 119)

When I lived in the bubble
Life was clinical.
The untouchable
No germs could reach.
Neat, tidy and bleached.
Sterile in a mutilated world.
Last of my kind.
Needed protection.
Guarded against the things out there.
Out there that would destroy me.
Somehow I felt,
I knew,
They were protecting themselves from me.

"Nap" (Entry 118)

Dip into tap. Time to take a nap.
The cat lapped at the sap of life.
Nip at the cap to rap on this 'n' that.
Ain't it fab?

"Where The Ancients Grow" (Entry 117)

The tall ancient pines hide the sky within the wild wood.
A place before time of humans, but in that dip where the extinct still exist.
The air is fresh, only breathed by sincere nature,
Those unmanufactured living as they should.
They are called the hidden ones.

"Expect Pleasure" (Entry 116)

Tis the reached out fingertip,
Or before the taste upon the lip.
Tis the rush towards the sigh
That second moment where dreams can lie.

"A Question of Paris" (Entry 115)

There's a city somewhere called Paris.
I think I heard it's in France.
I wish I could go. I wonder how far it is?
Let's go and play and dance!

"The World Asleep" (Entry 114)

The world never sleeps and always sleeps.
Beneath a darkened veil.
When sunlight peeps, the breath it seeps
to tell the earth a tale.

"Newness in an Instant" (Entry 113)

The gasp of newness,
of old existence dying overwhelms.
The grasp gone.
There's light at the end of that tunnel.
Being pulled forward,
unable to control the movement.
Motion mechanical.
Through darkness to pure bright white.
Chaos and confusions and love.
Wrapped up in warmth,
in your new body.
From death to new born life.
In an instant.

"What is Lonely?" (Entry 112)

She liked it there.
Alone
in her room.
Safe.
Belongings to hand.
People thought she must be bored and
lonely.
But what is lonely?
She wasn't.
Plenty to do.
The sort that was comfortable
in her own skin.
That's when she was
alone,
that is.
To begin with,
they tried
to get her involved.     Outside.     In the world.
Then
they stopped.
No one bothered anymore.
She wasn't bothered.
No more than she was lonely.
It was when she wasn't
alone.
That's what bothered her.

"Who's The Monster?" (Entry 111)

In the back of the cupboard
lies a monster.
Asleep and cosy and dry.
He's cuddled up warm in the corner,
if you ask me,
I do not know why.
Maybe this monster likes it,
where it's safe, mouldy and dark.
Though it's funny.
'Cause I'd want it hot and bright,
but then again,
I am not a dust bunny!

*********

111 completed - 444 to go!

Thank you for coming along on the verse voyage.

"First Time" (Entry 110)

"There's a first time for everything!"
He yelled.
As he jumped out of the plane.
All about firsts.
The adrenaline junkie.
Trying all things dangerous
and strange
and new.
Not one to live in fear,
so everyone thought.
They were wrong.
Everything he did was because of fear.
A childhood full of scared and scarred memories.
Only way to deal -
Go for it!
Full engines, raring to go.
Cars and mountains
and treks and bikes
and rivers and oceans
and food. Any notion.
Trying everything that came his way.
Even today.
First time for everything,
as this red letter day
led him to skydive.
First time for everything
and today
was his first time to die...
and his last.

"Midnight" (Entry 109)

She scooped up the ball of fluff.
Warm pink paws stretched to show mini claws.
Matching tongue stuck out in dozy yawn as the kitten woke.
Bright inquisitive citrine eyes scanned over her face,
taking in her new owner's features,
as recognition of fun times and fierce companionship was born.
A jolt of future echoed through both of them.
Joined together in the moment.
Cat shelter manager enquired on her new name.
She watched the cat nibble her fingers and rub its head against her palm.
The fur unmarked, a dark pool of black calm.
Hints of blue seems to sparkle as the sun shone upon.
A black so deep you want to dive, to fall into,
to plunge further and further into the Universe.
"The colour of Midnight,"she murmured. "Midnight."

"Happy Times" (Entry 108)

A group of friends,
and one to love.
Dreams fulfilled.
Blue skies above.
Dinner delights.
Films so sappy.
Warmth of laughter.
The times I was happy.

"The Innocence Sleep" (Entry 107)

There's no difference between
a sleeping child or kitten.
Breath calm and light,
snuffles of warm delight.
Eyelids flicker as lashes bat away the day.
Legs aquiver as in dreams, they play.
Creating their energy score
for their next adventures and more.
In that breath so calm and light,
warm and cozy in the night.

"A Mix of Tears" (Entry 106)

you name it
you said it
you saw it
you sang
from stories of sadness
horrors and
thrillers
that go bang
from adverts
to true stories
my own life
and tragics
who die
even comedies
a flower
the view
They ALL make me cry.

"The Painting" (Entry 105)

Over the mantle, there was a print.
Chinese lady - face a green tint.
I grew up watching her calm smile.
Always there in times good or vile.

She went out of fashion, called awfully tacky.
Those who kept her displayed were considered wacky.
So, off to the attic, hidden, she had to go.
Now she's back on our wall. Thank Tretchikoff's retro!

*********

Vladimir Tretchikoff

"Summer Picnics" (Entry 104)

It's wet, and yet,
we'd better stick with it.
More ants! It's pants!
Now, I'm gonna have a fit!
Sun shines. Tan lines.
Who forgot to pack the lotion?
Our ass. On grass.
Get set for picnicky commotion!

"The Turn of a Card" (Entry 103)

The worn yellow edges seemed to melt
and meld into her fingers,
warmed by her energy and expectations.
Tossed between hands like infants playing ball
rather than a deft juggler
Instructions told her to split the pack
then spread.
Followed orders, with parched humour
thought on how often she'd obeyed his
selflish
same barks.
Three cards chosen
from the lie of curled corners and dulled backs,
half wishing she'd never borrowed them from flaky friend.
(However well meaning.)
Best read them
yourself
alone
without booklet or another interpretation.
To follow her gut
her intuition.
Fingers outstretched,
pads pulled her future towards her,
as she turned the first card...

"Camp First Contact" (Entry 102)

Cold of the night began to seep
into sleeping bag.
The type of chill that groundsheet
could not still.
Unstaved, to snore and grumble
in undreamed sleep.
Comatosed hand scratched at arse
within quilted cocoon,
replied with a grunt and a fart of
satisfaction as, deep and low,
the rumbling began.
Dull throve of engine getting closer,
churning up the skies to
whip the air,
and rip the flimsy tent away.
No longer sheltered,
at visitors, he gasped and gapped.
At first light and contact,
now totally awake.

"Look Back" (Entry 101)

To turn around and watch the past.
The times gone by, that couldn't last.
To see regrets and remembered bliss.
Memories melded into this.
Stop looking back and circle through
Towards your future, the right thing to do.

"Attention!" (Entry 100)

The victory of impact
will lead no more to
undefeated whimpers
Eaten away by the ghosts
Of decay, fighting to create
New cavities.
Here comes the cavalry!
To act of the drain
and weave in the futile.
There's a knack to celebration.
Return to barracks and
Barricade the world.

"Bit By Diseased Sound" (Entry 99)

I live my life in sound bites,
Trite audio tripe delivered in
Contacted minutes.

Minute mumbling of
"How are you?"
"Been up to much?"
"Good to see you!"
"Seen such and such?"
"Is that the time?"
"It's almost Noon!"
(A wave with mime)
"We'll catch up soon."

But always said in upwards inflection
"You're looking well."
I smile, say thanks, but in reflection.
I'd rather say, "Go to Hell!"

Add up interactions reckoning,
Sum total of 24/7 small talked
equals hour or so past beckoning
Into the abyss of time's spent walked.

To speak of books and art and
Dreams and fears and fantasy.
Long discussions of the world with
Laughter. I yearn for witty company.

But it's all I have
These seconds of gossiping chatter.
The rest is silence.
I long for stimulus for the grey matter.

"Head Break" (Entry 98)

Smash!
Head cram.
Full of memories breaking out.
Crash!
Brain bam.
Throbbing ache, I could do without.

"I Dream Of" (Entry 97)

I dream of honey flakes and
Hippopotami and hungry hamsters
And the hound that wants to fly.
I dream of happiness and
Hypnotherapy and hiccups
And home, that's the place we want to be.

"To Be Gifted Hindsight" (Entry 96)

Power of old
moulded
create life's decision.
Future hindsight,
tonight,
show me the true vision.

"Breathe" (Entry 95)

I take the cool breath
that hangs upon my warm lips
on this autumn morn

"Mirrored Imagination" (Entry 94)

Slip through the illusion
Passed the eccentric cupboard.
Discover a world like the other,
In reflection, a parallel life,
Mirrored - imagine to take half of one
And fifty percent of the other
To make unbreakable balanced whole.
What of the other halves?
Fractioned faction of fractured fractals.
Dimensionally damaged, to be destroyed?
Or locked within their pained pane?
Who's to choose who's to lose?
Leave brittle imitation behind the glass,
And stay a silvery amalgam as we are.
It's all surface anyway.

"Sing the Song" (Entry 93)

Just bing the bong,
Or ding the dong,
Try to ping the pong,
Even jingle the jangle,
Whatever your angle.
Remember to sing the song
of LIFE!

"Excitement by the Plateful" (Entry 92)

Beans in the centre bowl.

Chips surround in straight succession - rank and file.

Carefully structured turned to watch the main meat.

The Big Sausage! 

He's here!

Look at his tan!

Watch him sizzle!

Beans fall over themselves to be near.

The fries look on from their raised positions, 

and crackle and crisp at the behaviour,

but sigh, and wonder why, the beans got in their first.

"Eden Eliminated" (Entry 91)

The birds stopped singing.
A sudden silence,
driven by madness,
hidden away beneath a cryptic cave - a secret bunker.
Begun by a button depress - depressing.
Over idiotic land dispute.
A-fence-on-my-boundary sort of bicker.
Foolhardy senselessness - that obliterated 'the fence'
and the whole garden with it.
They blew up the Earth.
Eden no more.

"Deeper Hued Jealousy" (Entry 90)

She is SHE.
The female who lives with jealousy.

When he leaves and says one place.
It is true, or a Janus two-face?

She wonders if she dwells in lies?
Does he go elsewhere for highs?

Her intuition stirs these stories.
An emerald-eyed woman wrapped in mores.

"A Sad Loss" (Entry 89)

Distant memory.
I know it's there,
beyond my grasp,
out of my control.
I know it's there.
That point in time,
when energy lifted
and
I laughed.
But, in my gloom gouges,
those arcaned recesses of my mind,
I can't remember
what
made me
laugh.

"Rain Like Forever" (Entry 88)

Once again.
It seemed like forever.
Rain.
And more.
Rain, heavy on the windows.
And in the gutters.
Lakes, to burst in overflow.
On the streets and roads,
oil slick dangerous.
Rain.
Colour washed skies,
tumble dyed to hide somewhere in those clouds.
Wanting to part.
To move on with their lives.
Except for now.
Rain, heavy on windows,
and weighing down their hearts.

"Met. For the first time." (Entry 87)

Eyes met. A smile across reception desk.
Shy hello. Blush of cheek for a handsome fellow.
Keys passed. A shock of hand, a love to last.

"Goodbye" (Entry 86)

Saying goodbye
as sun departs.
Access denied at summer's end.
Stolen childhood.
Separated hearts.
Darkened days with mourning to tend.

"Dream Catcher Lost" (Entry 85)

Missed it.
Again.
Late nights lost a brilliance.
Cast out into mortal realm,
found on saliva soaked pillow,
indented and creased across the forehead.
Idea erased.
Glowing green digits emblazoned into retinas.
Missed it.
Inspiration fantasy lost in the morning.
To live another day without the glimpse of early genius.
Divine dream dazed and departed.

"Cloaked and Winged" (Entry 84)

Wearing a cloak of darkness,
You live in the shadows.
Sleeker, smarter, stronger
than your daytime gadabout nemesis.
Who is truly the negative?
You may not reflect the sunlight -
YOU absorb the Universe.
Attracted to the silver slither moonlight,
to bathe in its caresses
beneath the starry canopy,
you perform your life story.
Black batting of wings,
it's your moment - moth.

"Sink into Sunday" (Entry 83)

There was a lull,
as often was, upon the lunch
aboard the ship.
Sated by exquisite food
led to dullness
in wit and behaviour.

Morning worship duties completed,
full in soul of spiritual provisions,
as were the stomachs of food.

A Sunday afternoon like any other
to mull over the task of nothing much.
Lazy meander on promenade with
a quell of stilted polite chatter.

To only know then before
what lay ahead on the evening
to pull thoughts forward,
maybe that Sunday afternoon
aboard
the Titanic
would have been different.

"Perfect Night - Stars Align" (Entry 82)

A perfect night of Universal delight.

180 degrees of clear, 

devoid of clouds and fear.

Jupiter and Venus dance in line,

facing Mars - glowing red Divine.

Aldebaran takes its place, 

above turn its twinkling face.

'Tis a spectacle - a special time.

Turn to the heavens, when stars align.

"Dank Driving Darkness" (Entry 81)

Hard to focus on road in front.
Radio blares to staunch the effect of hypnotic wipers.
Try to peer beyond.
Concentrate on surroundings,
on the traffic,
pounding forward in this dank tube,
like being stuck in a water pipe,
rushing forward.
Difficult to drive as darkness descends
in the afternoon.
Lorry on inside land swerves and recovers.
Discover, still in control, as wheels slide
and hands grip steering.
That woke the world up!

"Weather Beyond The Wipers" (Entry 80)

Wipers slash the windscreen,
cutting through the drab droplets of repetitive rain.
Too early for headlights,
but they flash on
under the rolling relentless grey oppressive clouds
making the sky seem low enough to touch.
No landscape beyond the lanes,
just impending fog
washing colour and shape from the world.

"Sparkle in the Void" (Entry 79)

Hacked from rock,
Deep beneath in Hades caverns,
Worked where volcanos cook at the core.
The ice that knows no melting point
Except
For those that drill it it for
The circulatory of blood money.
Black ice,
Diamonds rare,
At the pressured end.

Mined the other mines,
Still full of danger,
To discover stuff to burn.
Another form of black ice - Coal.
Dug by suffering hands
By those with cash to cook.

"To Change A Home" (Entry 78)

Oh, if I could - move home.
It is something I would love.
Stayed too long, want to roam.
Maybe a flat high above?
Something modern beneath a dome?
Or painted white like pure dove?
A cryptic site as dark as tomb?
That fits me like a clichéd glove!
Grab the agent, it's time to comb!

"Near The Nerve" (Entry 77)

The medicinal scent of antiseptic
hugged the sweetness of Novocain
while swimming in the clawing artificial mint mouth wash.

The drill whirled and dug deeper.
Enamel chips, caught up in saliva slicks,
whipped away in the mini-vacuum
which left no prisons.
Hell!
It even took on the tongue.

Nose breathing.
Heart thumping.
Lungs bellowed.
Eyes closed.

Anywhere but here.

For here was on the ledge of safe.
Near the nerve, on the edge.
Dentist, please don't delve and gouge.
Careful with the drill!
Ooooowwwwww!

"A Story in Whispers" (Entry 76)

'Tis the tale that's never told.
'Tis a history story of whispers.
Passed (or past) from one to other,
Remembering and celebrating what's gone before.
Pride washes o'er us and we know
Where'er that's written
By the Powerful
In books of made-up stories
To make 'em feel great.
We truly know
In a history of whispers
What's right or wrong.
We know the Truth.

"Shot by Sorrow" (Entry 75)

The bullet did not burst the heart,
nor grazed the muscle at all.
It nicked a nerve which sent
the soar of pain straight to the soul.
Thoughts to better times enflamed,
then shrunk back to reality.
Passing sorrow which is calmed,
but never healed and not to be.

"Burrowed" (Entry 74)

In the pet shop of your mind,
you will find,
caged, fed and warm,
a batch of Small Regrets.

Squealing,
Scratching,
Gnawing,
Knowing.

No one wants Them,
but every now and then
They squeak -
to remind you They're there -
and you remember.

How you remember.
Thinking of Them
BIGGER, LOUDER
and more important than
They really are.

They scrape at the surface of
real memories,
biting and burrowing Their way through,
taking the edge off achievements and optimism.

Don't feed Them,
as They expand and
eat Their way into
positive thoughts.
Leaving emptiness - only to be filled by...

...WATCH OUT!

Small Regrets breed if
YOU let Them.
Multiplying and mutating.
Give Them enough space,
They become Sorrow, Guilt,
Grief, Disappointment and
The Monster of Them All -
Failure.

In the pet shop of your mind,

you will find,

a batch of Small Regrets.

Keep them caged.

*********

Inspired by an exercise on Jani Franck's excellent course

"UnEarth Your Creative Nature".

To find out more about Jani and her creative guidance, and more.

Please click here.

"Flash to Pash" (Entry 73)

A flash of sunlight in enquiring eye blue.
A dash of a challenge between us two.
A rash decision leads to date night.
A thrash to club beats under moonlight.
A slash of perfect white - a smile to bring
A pash to end the perfect summer's fling.

"Take It Away" (Entry 72)

Leaflets out, all in a row.
Chinese, Thai, miney, mo!
Shall we choose Indian? Some pilau rice.
Hawaiian pizza? Extra ham would be nice.
Of course, there's chicken - fried deep
with tons of chips and beans in a heap.
I'll like Italian, but they don't deliver.
What shall we order? I'm all of a quiver.
Hurry up and choose, we need to be fed.
Oh, I'll get my coat. Let's eat out instead!

"Raw" (Entry 71)

A joke. A childish game.
You choked. It was a shame.
On yolk. Raw. So lame!
Such a bloke! No one to blame.
At your folks. Glad we came?

"A Rainbow at Dusk" (Entry 70)

The globe lowers along a line that does not exist.
Slowly melting,
soaked up to change the colours of the sky.
Bright blue melds to violet
touching a golden centre
spraying orange and red of chewy candy.
A delicious treat of flash of green.
Gone!
Darkened night to indigo,
ready for the heavenly display delights.

"The Piano Players" (Entry 69)

If you listen hard enough,
somewhere in the world,
someone is playing a piano.

More than one.
What do you think?
A thousand? A million? More?

All playing to their own tune.
Living their life to their own rhythm.
Take a listen.

All playing.
Are they young or old?
Professional or new?
Some for fun, others for money.
Others play because they are made to.

Just think
if all these millions,
let's stick with millions,
all played the same melody
at the same time.
Would everyone on the planet hear it?

Would it reach the angels?

But the angels already hear them,
every song, all the time, everywhere.

For at this moment,
there is one angel who sits beside a girl
enveloped in thought and music.

The angel sighs, knowing that soon
this song will soon be lost.
As there will be one less piano player in the world.

So play,
play now and loud,
or softly for yourself,
but play.

Play your piano while you can.

"Small Fish" (Entry 68)

The shoal swam turning swirling in the eddies.
Jasper took a gulp and entered the sway.
Nothing at school had prepared him for
his first day at Guppy, Pilchards and Sons.
A small fish in a gigantic pond.
He already felt like he was swimming against the tide.

"Flesh" (Entry 67)

I roll the pale green grape between thumb and forefinger
and feel the slight - give - of flesh,
yielding but resisting,
at the first point of ripeness.

I concentrate as I rub
and play
with its perfect imperfect shape.

As I bring it towards my lips
light reflects causing
the sea-washed bottle green skin to fade
to almost translucency seeming to show
the veined pulsing goodness beneath.

Teeth on skin to graze and -
Bite!
Juice bursts forth to spill on tongue.
A single vine-berry's delight.

"Night's Chorus Unheard" (Entry 66)

I lift my head towards the inky darkness.
Tiny pinpricks of light glitter in the sky,
dulled by the full moon
lit large and luminous.
The spot light for the dance.

Above me, the performance had begun.
A thousand leather-like wings flap to reach the gods, and glide.
The multitude of bats in flight.

Beyond my senses, although I strain,
in hope of picking out their sonar song.

What secrets do they sing?
Oh, to be part of that chorus,
these electrifying voices of the night.

"A Brave Face" (Entry 65)

The widow's weeds hung crisply on the wardrobe door.
Starched and upright, that's how she knew she must stay.
Dower in dress and demeanour.
It was what was expected of her.

Family spoke in hushed tones the floor below.
Arranging tomorrow, remembering him, organising her.
Waiting for her to fall apart.
When she walked into the room, she expected them to be ready,
hands out ready to catch.
It was what was expected of her.

She smoothed the jacket arm,
picking off minuscule fuzz.
She wouldn't fluff up tomorrow,
she would act with decorum and respect, but
withdrawn.
It was what was expected of her.

It was what she needed to do.
To get away with his murder.

"She Lives in Shade and Shadow Street" (Entry 64)

In the shades and shadows,
almost at the end of the empty lane,
there is a woman in a window
who watches.
Her stare glares,
"I don't know you. You have no right to be here!"

For a fleeting snap, our eyes meet.
I wonder about her life, her past,
her family or lovers, her friends...
but then, she peers and jeers.
She won't let you in.

Staying at her window
than to venture into the warmth
of hello.

"Go away!" she mouths.
And we do.

"Shade and Shadow Street" (Entry 63)

Nothing but broken pavement
hugging mould on the skirt of dirty brickwall.
At empty lane's end,
the smashed street lamp on blackened pole gives no light
to slabs or curb.
A used crisp packet blows beyond
picked out in yellowed glow of
the nearest working lantern,
disappearing in the gloom between
'til gone.
Shades and shadows of a grubby past.

"Wise Eyes" (Entry 62)

Sparkling amber pools fizzed with wit and guile.
Corners that crinkle with an easy smile.
A crafty wink after a joke's been told.
A steady glance - a gaze to scold.
Glasses on nose to magnify those eyes.
I miss the look of my daddy, so wise.

"They Said" (Entry 61)

They said,

they'd look after me.

They said,

we would always be together.

They said,

they'd love me.

They lied,

and left me alone - forever.

"Stirring Up Memories" (Entry 60)

Simple.
Soft brown melt-in-the-mouth meat
vying for space with chunks of carrots, swedes, onion and peas.
Jostling in juices,
gyrating in gravy.

Served up with potatoes.
Always potatoes.
Boiled or beloved mash.

Take stock at steak stew.

I can taste it now,
but only in my memory.

I salute her stew.
No longer served or savoured.
Though strongly remembered,
and made in remembrance,
by me,
but it's never as good as my mother's.

"Finer Diner" (Entry 59)

Nothing is truly finer.

I love the greasy diner.

Slide into the plastic,

that would be fantastic.

Haute Cuisine? You can leave it!
Not a full plate, can you believe it?
Five star restaurants? I deplore.
Expensive and a bore.

Stack it high.
My, oh, my!

Nothing is finer

than a burger at a diner.

With mugs of tea.

That's grand for me.

(Well, once in a while I'll buy it,

but today... it's back to the diet.)

"A Bluesy Kind of Night" (Entry 58)

The horn blows a deep note of indigo
against the moon timbre of cymbal.
The depths of risqué sax
knows how to play the dispirited away
until the downcast of night
lightens the beat
to the royal rhythm of time
and join the dawn in cobalt riff
to create a new tune of day.

"With Her In Mind" (Entry 57)

With lips as red as cherry pop candy.
With fluttering lashes like a Georgian dandy.
With undulating hips like a cobra's dance.
With blushing cheeks, full of romance.
With violet eyes like an amethyst's heart.
She captures his mind even when they part.

"That Sinking Feline" (Entry 56)

Feline filled the sink like a furry bean bag.
Curled up, visage veiled beneath the tail.
Shock of warm ginger stripe against ceramic bright tooth white.

Door opens, light pulls on.
Cat raises a sleepy head,
blinks olive marbled eyes
and jaws a yawn to show python fangs.

He stretches and ambles to perch on the edge,
ease of balance that would put a tight rope walker to shame.
He miaows in demanding tones,
and eyes the tap and empty sink.
"Fill it up. I want a drink!"

"Bus Ride - A Thousand Scents" (Entry 55)

Stop and start,
journey and jot.
On at station 'A' to take me to 'Z'
which is a long way to be.

Strangers wrapped in coats and their own lives
bustled on and off
at various stops
to carry on with their carrying ons.

Enjoy the trip and diesel smells
mixed with the odours of bodies
which linger on longer than their owners
to dissipate at points of their own wanting.

Some scents travel on the bus forever.
Maybe stuck to sticky floor of unknown origin
or attach to harden gum left beneath the seat
by teenager or tobacco kicker.
Foetor saturate fibres of the travelling tin can itself.

Sink further into the scratchy seat to join them
and leave part of yourself behind.
Detach hands from metal bars taking with you
the germs of the thousand others who gripped before you.
Take it, it's a gift, you've left part of you in return.
Your sacrifice to timetabled toured track.

The brakes scream.
The bus jolts.
The doors hiss, "Get out!"

You have reached your destination.

*************************

We've reached 55 poems. Only 500 to go!

"Anywhere But Here" (Entry 54)

Anywhere but here.
That's where I want to be.
In some exotic land, some foreign country.
A place I've never been.
By boat or train,
Or car, or plane.
Anyway to take me anywhere.
I want to experience new and amazing
and bright and brilliant.
To meet and greet and laugh and love.
To swim and see and just be me.
TAKE ME AWAY!
I want to be anywhere but here.

"Breaking My Heart With A Lie" (Entry 53)

It was a lie.
Now what he said, but doesn't say.
Avoid a direct question,
giving enough information
and no more.
I knew he was lying,
enough though he never did.

"Pillow Talk" (Entry 52)

Squashed and squished into his shape.
Indented with his presence,
his being, his scent, his essence.
Won't fluff it to even oblong,
not unformed by plump or preen,
to see where my bed fellow's been.
Pillow proven my love's been here,
held and nestled the man I adore,
until he embraces me once more.

"Loneliness Explained in the Living Room" (Entry 51)

There's silence in this room.
Empty.
No, not that.

Though full of fabrics, wools and leathers
fashioned into sofas and chairs and cushions
and curtains and carpets.
Woods, metals, glass, papers and plastics
shaped into cupboards, chattels and
tech and words to distract.
Overwhelmed by furnishings in
a living room.

Living Room! I laugh!
Ha!

This is an existing room.

All this stuff... and me.
Only me.

Desolate.
Silence, apart from my breath and sighs.

Empty of living.
Full of lonely.

I wonder what would happen if -

I found a way to stop the breath?

Then - oh, then - it would be
more empty than before -
A Death Room.

Maybe I contribute more to this Living Room than I thought.

"A Fruity Summer" (Entry 50)

Vie with insects 

in oven-warm orchards.

Picnic laid before and eaten.

Sun plays kaleidoscope through branches,

adding nature's checks bright to linen, red and white.

All that's left is a sweetness un-satiated. 

Lips licked and nibbled to heighten desire.

Slow smile curves as 

a waist held and lifted towards the heavens and the trophy.

Red lacquer nails graze as tips reach and fold

around another ripe plumpness.

Then a gentle pull -

to tumble -

and confetti of goodness

rains upon them.

Prize claimed.

Take a bite!

"Sacrifice on Salted Air" (Entry 49)

Stumble over seaweed slimed rocks at cave's mouth.
A foot jammed in gap.
Crimson gory pours from new gash,
slashed by jagged edge.

Profuse swears
to damn the day.
Words gush to
reinforce the salt water
rubbing into wound.

The time made worse
by circumstance would not be here.
Oh, to curse the curse
and needing  cure.

Deep and melodic
female voice rumbles to
demand who dares profane
the air.

Trembled torn step forth
to meet the eel black darkness
slipping from the cavern.

Incorporeal made to silhouette
to bulk hidden in barnacled burlap cloak.
Throated gurgled giggle reaches to shriek.

"Blood!"

"Feline Fantasy" (Entry 48)

paws quiver... whiskers tremble...
tiny mewing... fantasy assemble.
Where does he go? When he dreams.
Furry kitten... more than he seems.

"Who's There?" (Entry 47)

A distant crackle in silent air.
New moon's hiding in universal lair.
Tuneless whistle, rhythm changed,
Getting closer, a noise deranged.
A tread on stone in single beat,
that joins the song, now tread of feet.

"This. The Eclipse." (Entry 46)

The rolling darkness envelops.
Embracing and beholden,
an orgasmic grasp,
until
all gone.
Nothing but
halo of Sun and Moon conjoined.
Entrapped in a moment,
in rapture,
then once again light fights.
Released.
Expanding.
Celebration and revelation that all is
right.

"Blush. Hush. Gasp. Pause. Engaged!" (Entry 45)

The skin on her cheek blushed.
Hush!
Silence fell upon two heartbeats.
Were their rhythms in time?

His eyes glazed with worry and hope.
Was he wrong?
Lost his nerve, now declaration spoke.

Her cherry glossed lips paused in pout
then parted.
With the exhale, a single word
formed in the air.
An exuberant YES!

Room erupted in celebration,
as tears fell upon that reddened cheek,
only to be kissed away
to champagne bubbles and
a diamond slipped upon the hand.

"The Life He Lived" (Entry 44)

They always said they expected it.
(Seeing the life he lived)
They said they always knew and reflected,
(Seeing the life he lived)
He disappeared from their cosseted world,
Living the life he lived.
It was when job lost, his lot unfurled.
Given the life he lived.

They smugly gossiped, he was out on a limb.

(Seeing the life he lived)

What can you expect from a man like him?
(Seeing the life he lived)

"A Verse To Chew Over" (Entry 43)

'Elevens' become deeper.
Eyes dart.
Lids narrow.
Every word tasted.
Script savoured.
Bitter or sweet?
Spicy or bland?
Language devoured.
Lines ingested.
Couplets ate up.
The feast of the poem relished in full,
but the regurgitated burp of thought repeats -
"Is it about me?"
"Is it about me?"
"It's about me!"
"Isn't it?"

"Twilight Thoughts" (Entry 42)

Yellow haze touches the sky.
Gathering clouds, by and by.
Heavy darkness threatens and calls.
Twilight memories hides and falls.
For this is the time which does not exist.
A flicker of eye, the light is missed.

"Instrumental Melancholia" (Entry 41)

Orchestra gathers,
movement together
to play the melody of life.

A malady and cure of emotions
stirring in the songs of the soul.

Of all the instruments assembled
In the corner sits
the melancholy
whose sheet music can be
an underlying single note
forever played,
unnoticed,
unloved with regret.

Or an aria
lamenting as strong as the soprano diva.
An opera of its own
to end
in despair and tragic death.

To many, it can be the interlude,
a solo breath of grief,
between the true acts of living.
A cruel intermission.

Which Instrumental Melancholia do you play?

"The Breast of It" (Entry 40)

He tried not to notice.
He tried not to stare.
Eyes front!
Misty and glazed on her face.

It was a good face,
an alluring face,
that laughed and scowled,
and smiled and pouted.
He adored that face,
but she was unaware,
love unrequited.

and now,
and now,
she'd damn well done this to him!

"Go on. Look down. I know you want to. Look down!"
The voice screamed inside his head.

All too much.
His optical nerves and muscles twitched
on command.
His eyes dipped.

Her button undone,
(and so was he)
the top button on her silk cream blouse
free from burden and restrain.
He didn't care of clasps and clothing,
but of the flesh,
flesh appearing beneath.

Warm soft smooth domes,
shiny with body lotion -
like slowly melting vanilla ice cream
at balmy summer sundown mixing with
her fragrance enticing of Polynesian nights.

Charmed by the rise and fall.
Each dip inviting him into pleasure.
Each rise reaching out to him...

...
...
...

Then he realised...

...

There was a pause...

...

A long drawn out empty void of conversation.

She watched him in silence,
her talking done.

....

His eyes - still on her breasts.

"What I See As You Sleep" (Entry 39)

The breath
The hush
The snuffle
The snore
The mutters
and eye dream flickers,
all I adore.

The farts
The burps
The saliva dribble
The scratching
and slobbers,
I even love these,
(without - much quibble.)

"When She Came In, The Sound Went Out" (Entry 38)

As cockroaches rattle around
the edge of the room,
sniffing out the latest droppings,
the gossip skitters from
vile mouth to
evil tongue.

Each adds and embellishes to the din,
like enormous web woven together
by venomous spiders spitting out
maliciousness and
innuendo roar.

Without any silver thread of
evidence resonance to be found,
but truth on longer mattered.
The flies to excrement,
they shudder and shriek in ecstasy.

She knew that, for
when she came in,
the sound went out.

"A Myth of Colour" (Entry 37)

Hidden away deep on Spectrum Island,
there is a wood called The Rainbow Glade,
that is the home of a million magical trees.

These are the Shade Trees.
Each one special,
An individual - just like you.

Tended and cared for by the colour gardener,
whose green fingers cause each tree to flourish,
bloom and send out its glorious light into the world.

Giving depth and hues and pigments.
To cast a chroma hush and blush throughout the land
and stain it with illumination's glaze.

Then one small seedling took root in the Crimson Dell,
and created a whole new shade,
never seen before.

Words were formed and twisted,
would this cheeky tone taint the gloss,
and discolour luminosities tone?

But the new shade shone and glowed,
and showed, that this was the colour of positivity,
a colour-wash of emotion.

******

Note: Watch out for The Rainbow Glade and the Shade Trees.

More news on their 'growth' coming soon!

"Guilt Unspoken" (Entry 36)

He never told her what he really meant,
Never thought to tell her about his plans,
outside of their own.
His own version of bloke-speak.
Never uttered.
Each sentence, deciphered, analysed,
Translated back to regret.
Too much, she thought.
All her fault?
He manipulated it that way.
Blamed for wanting more,
as she watched the jacket shrug across uneasy shoulders
as he slouched out of the unpainted door.
Cracked and peeling neglect, skirting their lives.
Had she driven him away?
They parted.
As did the thighs of that girl who always gave him
sympathetic sighs at work,
then energetic strokes in the back of her Ford Focus.
Now, her life unfocused,
for all the investigating, decrypting,
over-analysing of what he did,
or didn't say,
one thing she knew.
Something the office girl would come to learn.
That one word left unspoken,
never formed in his throat,
it wasn't stuck,
for never the notion of it to be said
existed in his world.
The word, she never heard or thought implied -
"Sorry."

"Garden's Delight" (Entry 35)

Light. Too bright,
and colours garish prance.

Rows of roses and petal heads rock
and roll and metal dance.

Stems swaying in heated breeze,
as misty haze skims their knees.

Midsummer's enchantment at it's height.
The midday garden in full delight.

"InTent" (Entry 34)

It was our intent,
to take our tenting,
and go Big Foot hunting
(and a bit o' camping.)
On tenterhooks,
we put up our tented houses,
and tentatively struck the fire,
that was our actions and desire.

It was intense,

in a tent, 

as we trembled in our sleeping bags.

But little did we realise that
the flames enflamed the beast's best ire.

"Afore New Moon Rising" (Entry 33)

Dieter's strict slice of silver moon sliver,

dangled upon sky,

dusted by webby clouds 

drifting on stallion winds on high.

Dark side moon torn 

delivers new born.

Detailed date to rid yourself of

darkest negativity.

Dangerously near to midnight,

dance and be the new moon festivity.

Dare to be renewed by lore

and reawakened once more.

"A Date With Demons" (Entry 32)

I felt eons of times within those hours.

Age seeped as osmosis through the dermis,

soaking, decaying,

turning youth towards eld before appointed phase.

Waiting for dusky eve.

Was there ever a moment like this?

Prepared the shell,

choosing clothes, bathing, scenting, dressing,

preening, primping for this unusual first rendezvous.

The clock watched, as card smoothed on worn table.

Handwritten would be best for this haggard spent life.

I took my time, 

with each letter and loop,

no mistakes here.

Intentions made by true.

I signed it with a flourish,

and laid it to rest.

Ready to be taken and read,

along with the twine tied parcel

which contained a special gift to make the future easier.

An ordered affair.

A shudder of pleasure on choosing that way.

Instinct led the turn to the hands. 

Ah, I knew.

Nothing more perfect, 

bright azure turning to indigo,

ready to wash my blues away to black 

or white.

A slip of lip gloss and with sip of wine,

a tablet.

Then another.

Sip, pop. gulp, sip, pop, gulp.

Until both bottles emptied.

Another slip to shine the smile,

as I slid beneath the covers.

Lay back and sigh,

Calm and think of nothing.

They would find me,

asleep on the bed,

Clean, fresh, tidy, smart, 

with a note of my actions,

and details of a life lived in flesh and digital,

and how remains would remain.

An attractive arranged date with death?

Or a cry for help, gone too far?

"Between The Tick and The Tock" (Entry 31)

Between the tick and the tock,
there is a static moment not shown on any clock.
In that instant, that's less than a moment,
where breath can't be taken
or a tear can not fall,
there is
Forever.

This is the true time.
This is eternity.
This is immortality.

For we are fools to think
we can measure out and
organise the universe
to pigeon hole our lives into neat boxes
named by some invented integer
and spilt further to the fractional numerics
that slip between the cracks in the cosmos.

We can not be stacked linear on shelves
lain forgotten and gathering dust
- ashes to ashes -
as more boxes are filled to be stored
in the attic of history until overflown.
There is no car boot sale in the heavens
to discard forgotten detritus
"Roll up! Roll up!
Human lives going cheap,
only one previous owner
(except the reincarnated in the corner)
Step up, try 'em on for size!"

Look between the tick and the tock,
for you will find us there.
For we truly live forever and always,
in the depth, the length, the breadth, and
beyond of space.
The span and scope where there is no time.
Stare deep, can you see?

Between the tick and the tock,
that's you in there.
I'll meet you in forever.

"Country's Trouble Times Twice" (Entry 30)

When she came into his life,
he didn't think twice,
when they were together,
it was fire and ice.
He was a tall cool blonde
who took no fools.
She was a red headed woman
who broke all the rules.
It wasn't a storm cooked up,
that between them they stewed,
They were the tornado in town,
and it was trouble they brewed.
Everywhere they went,
you knew they'd leave a hurry.
They robbed and they scammed,
Living in state's flurry.
For he was a tall cool blonde
who suffered no fools,
and she, a red headed woman,
breaking every damn rule.

"Where Wings Unfurl" (Entry 29)

I want to be where the angels live.
In crystal cities of heavenly realms.
To join the choir in purest voices
With Gabriel conducting at the helm.
Be ready with swords and shields
In the host of Michael's lead.
To fight the good fight,
where'er there's evil, where'er there's need.
I want to be where wings unfurl,
The place for bliss and for rest.
 want to be where angels tread,
Or here on Earth, where we're blessed.

"Green Flash. Dash!" (Entry 28)

The green flash of the last glimpse of
setting sun,
stayed on retinas,
when gone from view to become
Horizon hidden.

End of a perfect day.
Perfect holiday.
Bliss of the new,
relaxation revealed
by throwing off the mundane,
like taking the lid off the coffee cup,
let out the steam,
a time to cool down.

Lean back on tropical print padded chairs,
how this realities tropical life fares,
to sip exotically fruited
alcoholic booted cocktails
at dark wicker bar.

Watch the light change,
the spectacle of natural fireworks on slow,
from white hot to hazy yellow,
green flash, to reach orange,
warmth of deep chakral red towards
where purple dwells.

But wait!
There on the horizon,
a notice of something,
a flicker,
as if the whole edge of the world crumples
and sighs.

The party on-going surrounds,
vacation in celebration.
Time, just a moment, stops
and stomach knots.
As the ocean plays a trick,
to slip
backwards from the shore,
pulling further away,
had enough of play.

A second to stare.
To realise
to be aware.
To be part of the
pitiful handful to perceive.
To stand and run and
sound an alarm,
not now to grieve.

The ripple expands,
to wave in full spate,
to rush, to flood,
to overwhelm.
A surge on this spiteful day.
Tsunami!

"How the Hours Pass" (Entry 27)

The passing of hours are like a stone,
or pebbles on a beach.
Either many out in front of you,
or washed away in the swell and
out of reach.
The hours can be heavy,
a drudge to carry,
too heavy to lift.
Or light enough to skim on past
from waters edge
so fast.

"The Grey Walls Wept" (Entry 26)

She built herself a prison.
A cave in which to hide.
When life was no longer worthy,
Or worth it.

She crept beneath her blanket of dark moods,
crafted by her own hands,
made stitch by stitch by experience unwanted.

She closed the curtains of depression,
heavy with despair, lined with tears
and hung on hooks of hatred and loss.

This, her castle, her home,
her haven, her prison,
her well, her oubliette.

She wanted to forget,
here behind her grey walls that wept,
crushed by the ceiling of torrential tears.

"Silence Way" (Entry 25)

Some things enter this life with a roar.
A human's baby's cry,
that first breath of announcement in anguish.
A New Year
enters by bells and fireworks,
and yet again,
human's cries at the passing of their own making.
Marking three - six - five gone,
(or three - six - six in four, muddled in time before)
Another arrives in new numerical order.

Then
there are those things that enter
by way of silence.
Such as,
the true passing of time, shown as
a wrinkle
which appears without a whisper.
Or death
which enters when the last sigh leaves.

Most we do not even know they are there,
for they are the others that entered in silence.
The angels, those celestial unseen,
those most powerful slip by without hush,
Hosts of energy sans ego.
They move around us, without triumph horns.
They are with you now.
Do you feel them? Or hear them?
As they go about their silence way.

"A Thought" (Entry 24)

Before I sleep, one last thought.
On this day, what was I taught?
Have I used this time up well,
Or hours wasted with naught to tell?
Have I given more than received?
One last thought, what have I achieved?

"Exposed" (Entry 23)

Freedom.
Exposed.
Nude.

Flesh,
fresh on air.
As we should be.

Truth.
You can't hide.

Harder to lie
or do ill to another,
when we stand and live in skin.

All raw.
See the surface,
but see deeper.
Without its disguise,
you step nearer to the heart,
become dearer to the soul.

We are whole.

"Sandman's Soundtrack" (Entry 22)

Stillness.
A distant roar of traffic,
sliced with a siren.

Heated exhale of breath,
huffed with garlic fume,
against chilled pillow,
dented with incremental heaviness
of bowling ball roundness.

Soft eyes closed
as three holes open
of nostrils above mouth,
whisper in the calmness of
the refuelling night.

Releasing the day, to be
reformed as dreams to
confuse and conflict,
beneath the comforter of downy duvet.

Sniff to sough,
Snuffle to snore.

A snort is added to
millions more,
and up above
The Sandman flies
and sighs
at the soundtrack of his lot.

Another night,
the same cacophony,
caused by his sprinkles of
moon dust dreams.
Atishoo - cough - wheeze - snort - snore - sneeze
Thank the Universe for earplugs!

"Love in Odd Places" (Entry 21)

Hidden in a corner,
the deep dark recesses,
where baseboard meets skirting board.

There is a crack.

It's slight,
but it's there.

If you look.

If you clean away
the gathered warren of dust bunnies,
a-brush away the supermarket stash of web woven flies
by its hoarder owner and home of the spider.

You will see the crack...

and sticking out
is a yellow corner of paper,
cracked, crumbled and crisp
like an autumn leaf,
or cold unkissed lips.

See the paper,
tweezer it out carefully,
cautious not to rip.
Now you have the whole note.

Capture it in your fingertips,
Finely unfurl the folds.

To read a love message

So heart wrenching,
yearning in adoration and devotion,
that tears will declare and
laughter will caress,
at the infatuation of affair within.

No names to shout upon this missive.
No clues to accuse or encourage.
Is it lovers long ago?
Boy to girl?
The vice of versa?
The twain of divine?
As lad to lad, or women entwined?
The erotic of exotic?
Or vanilla pod cuddle?
Love unrequited?
Or whole-heartedly indulged?

Maybe spider to victim?
Or fly to its mother?
Or fairy to angel?
Or a charm of magic,
for you from a future love?

Bask in words beloved,
then return back to its home,
a requited action for another
to discover.

What will you find hidden in your corner?

For hidden in a corner
of any room,

the deep dark recesses,

if you look,

There is a crack.

"Dark in the Garden" (Entry 20)

In the garden after dark,
the humans disappear and
those creatures who rule the earth
awake, take a step to come near.

For those who dance to Gaia's beat
know the secrets of this world,
and after dark in your own backyard,
their magic ballet rises to unfurl

A beauty never seen by eyes
like yours and mine.
For in their artistry of nature,
you'll discover the Divine.

"Secrets on the Shore" (Entry 19)

The sound of secrets lapped
against the shore of the universe.

More joined.

To create swirls in the solar system,
waves in the cosmos,
eddies amongst the stars.

The sound of a trillion secrets
disrupted the music of existence
causing chaos and discord.

"My Birthday" (Entry 18)

On my birthday,
I want laughter and fun,
to celebrate this trip,
another cycle 'round the sun.
I want presents, of course,
but most of all, I want
to experience new things.
At home or on a jaunt.
But most most of all,
I want on my special day,
is to be with you.
I hope that is okay?
On my birthday,
I want your hugs and kisses
(maybe a present or two!)
These are my perfect wishes.

"Power Beneath The Shadow of The Moon" (Entry 17)

There is power in the moon shadows.
It's there for those who wish to learn,
and walk a slope of discovery,
to the higher places where you need to climb,
to reach the peak and view
The Universe in its whole.

It's in the moon shadows,
where the trek begins.

It's not for all,
but if you choose
and are chosen,
accept the step into the depths
to learn the wisdom of infinity,
to know we are as one.

It's in the moon shadows,
where you find joy and light.

"The Sense of Angels" (Entry 16)

They blind my vision
in glorious rays of expression.

They whisper in my ears,
the zephyrs of wisdom

and scolding
heat blanked by many
free-will wall.

They stroke and massage my soul
with longing and enveloping want.

I smell their perfume
sweet and spicy,
fresh and husky
like the ages of times scooped
by the depth of ocean and
the gathering of land's lush.

They taste humanity,
allergic to most,
but find the umami
in our spirit.

These forms of stars,
these celestial light beings,
these profiles of angels
at our side, always.

"The Checkmate Alone" (Entry 15)

The table in the corner
is where he always sits,
plotting business manoeuvres
on red and white checked cloth.

Each move he makes a game of chess.
Salt races forward to take fork,
as he deploys mobile, laptop and
cappuccino into battle.

Occasionally he receives a visitor,
a subject or two,
this king of his corner table,
but mainly he rules,
then dines alone.

"Birth Day" (Entry 14)

At the hour of your birth,
as air fills your lungs,
A life of promise and hope,
sits on Fate's ladder's rungs.
Will you climb high?
Rejoice in each day.
Or will you stay grounded?
Or shine like star's ray?
From the time of your birth,
through the days between
From now on CREATE
Your life long dream.

"Wedding That Never Was" (Entry 13)

The confetti lay forgotten.
Full boxes
treaded into carpet and floorboards.
Unused.
Swept up and thrown away
to join pristine white dress in greasy blue skip.
A dress never seen by congregation's eyes.

The tables place setting untouched,
never to be dislodged by well-wishers elbows.
Scarlet velvet seats unflattened by
Aunt May's own ample cushions.
All still prepared for spectres
to act out the wedding that never was.

She waited, of course.
She waited half an hour, he's been delayed, she thought.
An hour, surely someone must have called?
Ninety minutes, where's the best man? Why isn't he telling her the worst.
Two hours, how could he? Leave me ditched  at the altar.
Nerves to worry to concern to...

The police officer walked towards her across the dance floor.
Sombre steps, instead of the first waltz.
Sorry. He said.
There's been an accident.
She heard the words: car - junction - lorry -
on the scene - unable to save.

After the last guest left, she cried.

"Silent Sound" (Entry 12)

In silence, there is energy.
A buzzing anon.
A non-existing noise that permeates through the skin
to join the roar of life which
YOU
carry.

For there is nothing as noise,
which dances and drums,
not allowing silence its hold.

One may sit in silence,
but the body within teems with its own cacophony of planetary existence.
Cells career on circulatory motorways.
Lungs swell like sails.
Hearts pounds out the life's beat,
like the master on a galleon.
ROW!
Lub-dub! Row! Lub-dub! Row!

The raw flesh and gaseous exchange
and fuel to keep on its course,
on its voyage,
until the end.

But still in death, there is no silence,
as we become
one
with the universe.
Part of the celestial dust,
sparkling and scattering through space.
The true rhythm of the cosmos.

"First Birds" (Entry 11)

They twittered,
fluffing and preening.
Calling to each other.

As the sun moved across the sky,
time became a priority.

They began to flap,
trilling and pecking.
Facing to book those unprepared.

Until it was the moment for them
to fly out into the world.

The first birds glowed in their finery.
Vying for position,
they entered the school disco.

They the first.
These little pretty preening twittering birds
ready for the music.
Ready where they belong.

"Try to Plot a Daydream" (Entry 10)

Spagetti.
A tangled rope.

Rainbows end.
A hint of hope.

"Recipe for Disaster" (Entry 9)

The time. Was Christmas.
It was her mother's and her mum's
mother's recipe before.
Used for decades,
Tried and tested.
Loved, each year, by all
in the family, they'd jaw.
So when she made it...
and it did not work.
It did not rise,
and taste? Well... abhor!
She cooked it again,
then again, and again
and each more awful,
much worse was the chore.
She glared at the recipe,
vowed Nigella was in,
and her mother's? The door!

"Syrup of Silence" (Entry 8)

Anguish. Tears.
Tiredness. Unspoken dreams. And fears.
Squelch and quell histories, better left forgotten.
Better to listen to the hall clock's
echoing tick,
deafening tock,
than let out the words
that can never be caught and dissolved again.
Choke down your life.
Take the bitter syrup of silence, and
repress.
It'll be over soon,
once you reach the long still hush.

"Back Alleys" (Entry 7)

Back alleys.
Hidden spaces of ill repute.
Storage of waste, both detritus and human.
The debris refused and left
to dreg and scrap for trash.
World's garbage left in unused passage.
Festering in dank corners
along with the creatures of distaste.
Rats and cockroaches, society's down and out.
All looked on as vermin, in an underworld
and out of sync.

"Imagine This" (Entry 6)

Who could imagine
the things we would see.
Like Rovers on Mars.
All ideas of fantasy.
And tablets to touch.
Cars running sans gas.
Colliding universes.
Future technology here at last.

But imagine this to,
where is our Concorde,
and NASA's Space Shuttle?
We now can't afford
These icons of progress,
as banks struggle en-mass,
plus with countries in trouble.
We, the West, have fallen on our ass.

"Hand Made" (Entry 5)

It was made by hand.
That card with crystals on top.
The one I sent you, covered in flowers.
It was made by hand.
Not bought from petrol station or shop.
Not chosen in minutes, but worked on for hours.
It was made by hand.
Using paper and ribbons and glue.
Folded card and cut for my beloved kin.
It was made by hand.
With love in my heart, just for you.
Please remember the work,
before it goes in the bin.

"Muted Hunger" (Entry 4)

I want a life better than this.
To have the chance to devour
To taste all there is on offer,

The all-you-can-eat buffet.
To pick and choose and have the best.
Instead of the forgotten infected pickings at the dumpster.

A muted hunger. The Desire Unspoken.
I have an appetite you can't fulfil.

"Waking Up to Sleep" (Entry 3)

Sleep. Sleep.
I want to dream
And dwell in the dark place.
To unravel the yarns weaved
into today.

Awake at One.
Only two hours gone.
To sleep in deep pools of rest
and yet...

Awake at Three.
Oh, not again.
Then repeats at Five.

Wide awake, to traverse
the race of planned planned,
but too early.

So force that feeling.
Squeeze the eyes and brain,
to sleep that one more drop.

Seven O'Clock!

Alarm blares.
Taken unawares.

Does no-one croon or wonder why
it's now?
That it's now I'm warm and safe
and without a care.
I want to dream
in this place.
It'a a thought to contemplate.

To sleep and sigh.
To sleep and sleep and sleep and sleep and sleep and
Oh, no! Overslept!
I'm going to be late.

"Every Night, We..." (Entry 2)

Every night, we save ourselves,
and all of Earth's humanity.
We don in dreams, the cloak of heroes,
and be the saviour we want to be.

Every night, we scare ourselves,
in horror stories of dark despair,
worse than those seen on movie screen,
play out in depths of the nightmare.

Every night, we leave the planet
to journey beyond stars to the unknown.
Those places where myth and magic dwell,
through the cosmos we weave and roam.

Every night, we replay our lives,
to highlight mistakes or rewind a wrong.
We experience passion deep and raw
and love's regret acted out in song.

Every night, we save ourselves,
as our minds work through fantasy.
A challenge. A quest. A moment's jest.
Unravelling the clutter to let us be.

"A Shade Tree" (Entry 1)

There is no world beyond the shade tree,
beneath its branches lies the hopes and dreams of
all who lean on sturdy trunk.

There is no where else you'd rather be.
(no else to be)

All else forgotten as to climb and perch,
to try to reach the up most leaves.
Ne'er making, ne'er stretching to

The sun. Is warm, but never burns.
The rain. Refreshes, but never drenches.

There is no extremes, just the place of perfect being.
Protection. Loving. Belonging.
To embrace and be embraced.

All as it should be
Beneath the shaded tree.