I saw my hands in a dream
They were small and far away
What did it mean?
They didn’t seem to be mine
I looked at them in great detail
Every aspect defined
But still they didn’t seem mine.
Their size was due to the distance I thought
But the finger nails were tragically aged and the thought of death was persistent.
Then I remembered the rivers that flow
Meandering down to the depths of the sea
And the waves and the tides
And the weighty drag of the undertow
Poetry
Amore
In the deep dark dead of the night
Long before dawns spreading light
When everything appears black or white
Enfolded in gentler greys
A lady steps into my forest
Quite naked
To bathe in the light of the stars
To me this has never seemed strange.
She’s my beautiful fairy wife. Her wings are gently throbbing.
And I always watch
Though she says I must not
She could damn my eyes but I know she won’t
By muscle bone, and seed-sack
By the lancing glance of my eyes
I will bring her to my bed
I am the king of the wood and will do as I must.
I am bound by lust
And night is the time for love and passion.
We must always make time to make love
Abbreviated Villanelle
Don’t ever ask me to be your Master
It would be a descent
and almost certainly lead to disaster.
The loss of your freedom would make me sad
Like losing a key that was heaven sent,
If I wanted to be your Master.
Our time together would vanish faster
The best of us would be rapidly spent
Wrong intention brings disaster.
So I set you free to be honoured and loved.
I don’t ever need to be your Master.
You have eagerly welded yourself to my heart.
Do you miss my attention when we’re apart?
Who Am I Now? Conversation with myself
So do you have any innocence left and are people kind?
Innocence no.
When I look in the mirror I see two eyes and I think I have lived two lives.
I still am.
One sadly tragic, a cynic, the other, ecstatic, euphoric.
So I can’t complain
My soul doesn’t show in my eyes as it did before.
And when I came to the edge of survival
I rested my faith in the kindness of strangers.
Yes there is kindness. Perhaps there are angels.
So what do you think of the world now?
Beauty, greed, wickedness, utter stupidity and lack of wisdom.
The curable won’t be cured.
That’s the worst.
I do remember the angels.
Perhaps kindness will save the earth.
That’s only my favourite dream
It’s not my nightmare.
In the Black Country
In the Black Country heavy industries squatted like giants
with their legs in chains and shrouded by steam.
Coal dust and dark rains stoked and smothered the foundry fires
Burning day and night in the iron works
While workers suffered, sweated and laboured
In the mine shafts deep underground
And ruined their lungs for the sake of the empire.
These men today speak of thee and thou as they count through the hours ’til they wither away in the black and the red.
In remembrance of Little Snake
Not a Cobra, not a Viper, not an Adder
Only a little green grass snake sliding through the shadows
But out of panic and fear
A boy on the path beat you to death with a stick.
Now little green snake with your flickering tongue
You are gone.
The fields are diminished without you
Bella Donna
Expand my pupils while I gaze
let me see you drenched in the light
while I hear the sudden racing of my strained and pounding heart
before I slip beneath the shades of darkness
into everlasting night
in the beauty of your cruel glance
and feel no lasting trouble.
Heroes Fall
I stopped believing in heroes when my best friend and lover fled.
People leave when life gets hard.
Fair enough. Now I know about that.
Heroes are false idols. Totally fake.
We make them ourselves.
They fail to live up to our fantasies.
I promise.
It’s a fact. It’s not always their fault.
I’d rather meet a badly flawed angel
One with a strong embrace
to stop me getting away
because I always try to escape.
I’d like an imperfect face
A face I won’t like very much at first
but can slowly come to love.
What the Sea Taught Me
Storms pass.
Tides turn.
Everything is eventually thrown towards home and reaches the shore
Unless it’s so heavy it sinks to the bottom
So, best beloved, wait for the time of turning or passing
Be light, and like kelp drift on the surface.
Or stand on the shore and watch.
Be granite. Try to endure.
But I think it’s better to float
Day 17 #NaPoWriMo Basho’s Dragonfly
Basho’s Dragonfly
Silent lizard on a rock
Sudden lash of tongue
Bright winged dragonfly is gone
The Dreaming Path 