Monday, 5 February 2018

Thursday, 8 June 2017

A Fiction

This evening I silently drift
In the pleasant fiction of peace

Here upon the very field
On which no end of battles
Have been waged
In the war of my heart

In the colourful company
Of snapping dragons
Of little sleeping apples
And a hundred winking Williams

And these perfect, circling
Outbursts of outrageous colour
Of which I do not know the name
But love.

They're shooting for the sky
So joyous. Dauntless.
Each one a tranquil firework
Pleasing no-one but themselves

And me. Drinking in the sky
And a blackbird's merry melody
Like iced tea and lemons
I might imagine I'm anywhere

Swimming somewhere cool
After a hard day's work

Thursday, 20 April 2017

Day Twenty

Allow the pieces
to fall into place
a good shake
to tame and take
it all in its turn
as patterns appear
from under the dome
you're off, dip toes
in multiple meanings
lashed into form
from adjoining turmoil
to the left, right
up or down
forget the score
be boggled by
these ordered, woven words

Tuesday, 18 April 2017

Day Seventeen

Ever in the long dark,

Cloud blanket filtered,

Refined through separation,

Silver light on knowing repose.

Monday, 17 April 2017

Day Sixteen


I am writing to satisfy a need in me to hold on to something of you. Furthermore, I'm obliged to declare that despite all attempts to return our exchanges, they endure. They remain.

Your letters are stubbornly fireproof. The paper is permanent. The ink is resistant to nails and saltwater. Every day is an exercise in disregarding some peerless idiom.

This is nigh on harassment. To be beset by these mountains of envelopes, blackening the sky, churning out language like fumes that make the head swim - it's obscene. It's perfect.

I can sit for hours watching the words fall out. One day might bring an avalanche. The next, one single word might just roll up, soft and earnest, and cause the sky to wreck itself.

I refer you, for no reason, to the day you said you loved me. It was a correspondence I'd been dumb enough to hope for. My fingers on each letter, a flurry of tumbling heartbeats. I thought it sincere, and I was ever yours.

Sunday, 16 April 2017

Day Fifteen

The meaningful
is not just the enjoyable

It's wilderness swimming. It's harder
to breathe with the pressure
on your lungs and a current
resistant to labouring limbs

Keep watch for whirlpools
as they're watching you
Eyes armed and dangerous
Ever they collude to bring you low

Be mindful of the dispirited
essence of life beneath a parasol
Where the umbra drips, drips
to the sound of others being merry

Life's a beach
Did you expect plain sailing?

Friday, 14 April 2017

Day Fourteen

Edward the Confessor
Neglected to name a successor
With Saxons promptly torn asunder
He must surely confess to a royal blunder

Qu'est-ce que c'est?

Loneliness feels akin to love Should you be shown a smiling eye