Severn Way

Skylarks sing love duets
high above the grassy flood plains.

Suns heat belying early spring
tempered only by deceptive cooling wind.

Haze casts an ethereal vision
of bridges spanning the murky depths.

The constant hum of human intervention
feels locked out of this water's edge oasis.

My soul lifted in peaceful harmony
I feel me, and know this is how it should be.

(NaPoWriMo 2011)

A Desert Rose

I yearn for understanding and yet I fear, I am further from the answers than ever before.

Was it an illusion I felt? Did the fabric deceive me?  My soul twisted and torn, left almost forlorn, all just a slight of hand.

Did I just misunderstand? when I opened the door offering trust, showing what I am. Was I measured and found lacking?

I feel the Universe is yoked in irony, is this some cruel joke? That yet again I fall on my face, tasting the dirt and blood intermingling.

As I rise from the earth once again, I wish to look in the eyes of he who judged me harshly. I want to react, but it is not in me.



All I have is my affection, the rest left dropped like shoes shed when running in the grass. I wait for the petals to wilt and fall.

But by some damnation, a divine twisted intervention, it lives still. A desert rose in the wilderness of this small moon.

You have no comprehension, understanding or suggestion. Either that, or a blackened soul of midnight coal free of obligation.

Yet still you have a diamond, stuck in the tread of your soul. It cannot be scratched by your endeavours shining still, I smile.

No dream or delusion, free from restrain of searching. Heart, body, mind and soul singing melodies, only wishing you could see.


(Picture kindly provided by Peter Wilkin with grateful thanks)

Cool Comfort gets an airing..

With grateful thanks to Peter Wilkin and Sweet Tweets.

http://paper.li/nmdr_/~list?tag=%23poetry

Cool Comfort

Cool comfort cast by
cautious caress of the breeze.

Beauty buried beneath her
burnish bronze yet fiery eyes.

Ethereal existence endangered
when evil enterprise strikes the soul.

Shadows stalk Seraphim not
seeking shelter from deep within.

While white waves meander
wild weathered sky, I wonder why.

The Blessing

He died, just like that!  Brutal fact.

A life of action finished finally, trapped immobile, in body passed its sell by.

The timing was not his, but the setting, how he would have wished.

Not for him the rhythmical buzz of the morphine drive.

Nor the metallic taste of death, clinging to the throat, stinging the eyes.

For when the mind grows weak or cynical, weary of this world.

Death is a blessing, bestowed on us all.

(NaPoWriMo 2011)

(Oneshotwednesday 27/04/11)

The Green Man

The Carver's hand, gnarled like the oak tree
tired with age,  his wisdom a spirit sage.

In the blue and green dappled sun shade
the carpet of his workshop, he works his age old trade.

For he must serve Jack o' the Green, time spent in careful toil,
leaves spilling southward as he speaks, fertility leaping forth.

Trees born six centuries ago still hold his signature
his face set in stone, looks out across timeless land.

After the crops are reaped and livestock safely gathered
harvest is celebrated before first frost rings the moon.

Then, and only then, he may rest his weary head
returning to his winter sleep once more.

(NaPoWriMo 2011)

(With grateful thanks for picture kindly provided by Peter Wilkin)

Insomnia produces unexpected mention..

With grateful thanks for 'Give me my dreams' getting a mention today in The # Poem Daily.

The # Poem Daily / Poetry section