Moonlit folly

You say to trust lust,
I say, I can never go that way,
it would have me chasing stardust,
wishing on a star, far far away,

If I allow myself,
what delicious dreams I could have,
wandering without a care,
naked in his head,

I could reel, in senses overload,
to feel his skin, hear his words,
feel his lips, drawing me in, what a sin,

To ride astride, a unicorn,
lit only by moonlight,
to hear him whisper my name,
such wicked delight,

To roll within, a passionate embrace,
face to face, like dragons locked in deathly grip,
never letting go, lest he slip away,

No, love is a hard taskmaster,
that is for sure, but lust alone,
is but a shadow, a half measure,
leading me to folly's door.

On the Bridge

As I wander restfully
I stop on a bridge above a brook.
He is not here, the one so dear
who brings my shine.
So, may I borrow from the past
words and thoughts made to last?
Poets now long dead but
far from forgotten, celebrated for all time.
When I am dead, what will be of mine?

The Price

He smiles on her with sunshine,
he does not explain why,
he gave her such capacity,
he gives no reasons for love,
he does not apologise for,
the subsequent, tearing pain,
he feels she has still gained.

The Circle

Today I see the purple heads of divine
inhabited mountain tops sunlit in full glory,
wind chasing the white grey clouds
like sheep across the land
Surrounded by a giant ring of majestic
mountain kings, each holding its own
a wonder all alone, uncountable stories known.

As I sit quietly within another smaller ring
I do not wonder why, I just look to the sky.
A ring within a ring all magic encompassed here in.
The ancients knew these things so formed Castlerigg Circle,
sculpture still standing. I am enveloped by its aura.



Revised on 27/05/11 - included in the # Poem Daily that same day.
with grateful thanks - The # Poem Daily

A Squirrel's Tale, Atop the Rocks & Can you hear them breathe

http://paper.li/tag/poem/~list?tag=%23poet

Have all been posted in # poem daily recently. With grateful thanks :)

A Squirrel's tale

Rufus the Red and clan,
live happily in Island kingdom,
a world of woodland green,
they were always to be seen,
working way up high, in the canopy,

Then one day came an invader,
young Gerrard the Grey,
he found success was easy,
in so many ways,
his family were large and brave,
breaking all the rules,
not bothering with pine cones,
they scavenged all the day,

The Red clan in disarray,
scattered far and wide,
but such was the Grey's hunger,
no where was safe to hide,
so to the final strongholds,
the Red clan did run,
here at Dodd's wood,
the battle rages on.

Water colour

Painting the picture,
down from the top,
dove grey clouds,
bearing down softly,
on shadowy mountain tops,
black and grey give way,
to murky green and grey,
streaked with earth brown,
lower still a golden yellow,
merges with a grassy green,
patchwork quilt with redden orange,
yew tree green of standing pines,
above steel blue water,
rippled by rain,
rising up on my right,
a hillside of dead red bracken,
lit only by canary yellow,
of the sharp gorse flowers.

(Buttermere)