It was the Autumn of our love
Nights grew darker; an omen
Summer had risen quickly from Spring
But faded to amber storms
Of flying leaves and fleeting thoughts
That don't stay long enough to catch
Mysteries and pagan histories
And the glowing pumpkin reminds me
Of your warmth and soft flesh
That is carved to someone elsewhere.
And the sweet bite of your apple,
Keeps ducking.
It was the autumn of our love,
Nights grew colder; alone
2013
Monday, 1 June 2015
Mum
You laid me in the moses basket
With home-made quilts
And hushed me to sleep
As you kept house in the rushes and reeds
And occupied yourself with daily deeds
You placed me by the warm corner
And told me stories
With deeper meanings
And watched me grow
With the milk and honey
And wisdom you fed me
You prepared me for the battle
Of the mind, the high tides.
You taught us that
Not all which is permissible is beneficial
And with few commandments,
Out into the world, we went.
March 2015
With home-made quilts
And hushed me to sleep
As you kept house in the rushes and reeds
And occupied yourself with daily deeds
You placed me by the warm corner
And told me stories
With deeper meanings
And watched me grow
With the milk and honey
And wisdom you fed me
You prepared me for the battle
Of the mind, the high tides.
You taught us that
Not all which is permissible is beneficial
And with few commandments,
Out into the world, we went.
March 2015
"Tread softly", said he
Beneath the velvet moss-clad mound
He sat and contemplated love and sin.
And merged the two in hidden sound.
His legacy, his body, here lies within.
Laying bare his soul as the winter trees
Who sit solemnly still on that open plain.
Of mysticism and poetry he gives the keys
To all who come through the shroud of rain.
Beneath the dark and bulbous rock
He lived and loved and wrote of such
Words, so full, unlocked.
Here, the grass still feels his touch.
Tread softly said he,
As you tread on his dreams
Tread softly, say we
As thoughtful eyes stream
He sat and contemplated love and sin.
And merged the two in hidden sound.
His legacy, his body, here lies within.
Laying bare his soul as the winter trees
Who sit solemnly still on that open plain.
Of mysticism and poetry he gives the keys
To all who come through the shroud of rain.
Beneath the dark and bulbous rock
He lived and loved and wrote of such
Words, so full, unlocked.
Here, the grass still feels his touch.
Tread softly said he,
As you tread on his dreams
Tread softly, say we
As thoughtful eyes stream
Coffee Shop Culture
Coffee foam art
Disturbed by sugared spoon,
Ripple, dissolve.
Thoughts revolve
In scruffy armchair
Familiar folky music
Foam moustache; lick
Savour each sip
Tired limbs recline
Comfort is mine
Watching passersby
And contemplating lives
Until one arrives
To the armchair beside
Talking loudly on mobile phone
Jan 2015
Disturbed by sugared spoon,
Ripple, dissolve.
Thoughts revolve
In scruffy armchair
Familiar folky music
Foam moustache; lick
Savour each sip
Tired limbs recline
Comfort is mine
Watching passersby
And contemplating lives
Until one arrives
To the armchair beside
Talking loudly on mobile phone
Jan 2015
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