Let peace bless
The constant trees
And kind winds
Ring the bells at night
In churches
The country round.
Snow quietens the land and
Angels
Tread the ground.
Christmas has come –
In fact
If not in spirit.
farewell to the ocean
farewell to the sea
farewell to the wind
farewell to gliding freeto my soul are calling
the homely shores no more
my self I must harbor
where I’ve not been before.
Dizzily spinning you asked for distance
but then refused to let me go.I feel empty before
this towering shadow
of unequity.Are we planning to split
friends between us,
again?But still – I choose;
this time I choose
on my own.I keep searching for a ring
that is still on my finger.
I dreamt you kissed me;
then
I sat on the wooden deck stairs,
listening to you sleep.Work hard and be persistent,
she told me, lucent judge,
while digging for coins.They gleamed in the dark earth,
perfect specimens
of our fictive history.
A second-hand heart
But the feelings remain
It’s been battered and bruised
But it loves just the same
You’re not the first one I love
But you might be the last
I step into the future
And let go of the past.
I love you
you don’t love me
so we shall be
but history.I stood still
while you moved on
you’re with her now
I’m still alone.Years have passed
time has flown
I fear I’ll always
be alone.
Logic shifted those sands,
sand plows and logic,
while ancient mountains waited
beyond the harsh desert.
Mountains where the air
smelled of magic,
of second chances,
of possibilities beyond
the reach of your cool, clear mind.Now the world is young
and as we shift sands
into new paths,
new directions,
I wonder if any mountains,
any deserts,
will ever call to us again.Where will second chances come from,
now?
The gambles of the year when towers fell,
when change came and loss ruled summer’s court;
That autumn’s equations were always going to be skewed.Time and chance and blustery days,
and while flowers grow in autumn’s park,
autumn’s gamesters deal from stacked decks.Perspex algebra of emotion;
bust one, bust all.All that’s left – shuffle the cards once more, roll the hard six;
solitaire a game ironcast giants have no patience for.Would that we had not played,
and were instead
still talking.
Fate is
Fingers passing
Through the sand
Of your life.
Things past do not vanish like clouds;
but linger, like painful, persistent shadows,
in lightness and dark,
in the creaky crevices and forgotten flagstones
of your misremembering mindspaces.Clouds vanish into sunshine or rain,
snowflakes or sleet, warm air or humidity.
But things past
you encounter, again and again, on the borders,
in the watchtowers of your mind.
She’s not sure she wants
His postcard tucked into her book,
His photo into her wallet,
And memories of him
Tucked into her heart.
We danced under the
glimmering stars, the
heavens wide with
permission and memories.Days in languid gardens had
led us to here and to you
fighting while I wait,
looking out from the window
beneath which we danced.Orion the hunchback keeps
me company through
my lonely winter of
your discontent.
Ghosts walk with me
Ghosts of choices denied
And choices made
The wind stirs in the holly tree
Not only Saints walk tonight
But figments, fragments,
Frailty,
The ghosts of things I tried – to hide?
Of things too long denied
…
The ghosts of all
I did not want
They sadden me
They frighten me
The wind that blows
Was never free,
Ghosts walk with me
Tonight.
A spring of window colours fades
into greyscale;
early summer, drawing closer.
Secret anxieties that I spiral along;
that spiral me along; alone.
Yet I would not cede voluntarily
this maelstrom’s horizon.
Chains, if chains these are,
then chains these are of my own forging,
from which unchained my heart cannot be.
Always I’d rather break along with you
than turn my back and leave you to face
the darkness – unknown.
Time too short for giving you less than all I am or can be.
Even all my chips less than you deserve.
A watch for falling stars
my only secret,
desperate remedy.
A miracle, for you.
How I wish I had one.
But if I am a conjurer of anything at all,
then it’s only one of mundane wor(l)ds,
the stars out of reach.
I had turned
my face, my ears, away
from music for a long time.
Tuned myself away,
too far to hear your melodies;
your harmonies; your song.Now here/hear then these words, all I can craft in return,
obscure black pixels on glowing screens
the most imperfect reply.Still:
if answers you’re looking for, out here,
if answers should find you,
if you ever come by here,
these seven (#7) (for a secret) then are mine (never told):
I’m very sorry;
I hope you’re well.
I wish you all the best, should you find this.
And should you never find this –
well, my wishes stand,
(have stood),
just the same, in the silence.
Take care –
(‘ -, Friend.’ Robin Hood would say fondly, were [s]he allowed).