Filter

With a tapping on these hollow bones.
Echo excuses.
Yet the tender skin, pulls you in.
These eyes blink as they reconstruct.
Speaking words that silently fill the air, with one harvesting look.
It’s these systems that are used, drummed out of fallen trees that stood watching over the dinosaurs.
Pouring that sticky sap into golden ears.
It’s seems delicious that movement.
Skin that sways like a moon tide, drifting into aching harbours.
Wooden bones, felled in a Pisces rising.
The sweetest time to hew and marvel.
Yet a switching off of this world leaves you vacant.
Wandering in that pasture where the insects buzz and sting.
That filter you use offers no clemency.
As poison needs no audience to flood the blood.
And you are now too far from home to be saved.
So we’ll bury you where you lay.
Covering you in shells and sweet kisses.
Eternally disconnected.

Advertisements

Come to disappear

More pain in her heart than a bomb over Japan.
She clicks her heels, but nothing happens.
More alone than home.
She darts into the traffic, proud and defiant like rhinos on the Serengeti.
This was her town, but from it now she runs.
Her tears falling like skyscrapers.
Down into the rain and the black streets of London;
that tries to coil around her feet.
The slinking snake of society.
She runs out, down and up into onto the lampposts until they change to trees.
And she feels the nature breathe back within.
The racing rats she leaves behind.
Throwing her phone and her tolerance into the trash as she departs.
This was never for her.
She comes now, out into the greens and browns that match her eyes.
Seeing the vista swim into view like a quiet paradise.
She comes here, to disappear.
She comes to survive.

WINTER DUST

(For Gina)

Words fall like the snow in the sky.
Each one unique, each one different.
Each one caught on my tongue.
Turning and melting in delicious fires.
This alabaster landscape calls to me.
Threatens to cause such havoc.
Yet stabilize my soul.
People drift to and fro.
Covered in dustings like the souls of Pompeii.
White, as the swan feathers that tickle my brain.
Forge deep into those drifts.
And slip away as the body numbs.
Falling into a winter dream.
Hoping to wake in the spring with all the beauty.
Released from mother natures warm comforting arm’s.

Efflorescence

Do you feel the change in weather?
The heart beating for the very first time.
Get down on the ground and listen to the soil.
The trumpeting pound of nature’s pride.
Beating like a dominance in my body.
Listen to my flesh as the drum beat breathes and sighs.
You turn a seasons within, devoid of the frost of winter.
Bathed in only the crystal glaze of summer.
Always sunny when you look my way.
A twice look biscuit fire that scorches my soul.
But I do not burn, I bloom.
Mesmerised and polarised in the dew drops of your joy.
The pounding of the flowers in the spring of your step.
Thump as the earth shakes.
Gasp with each breathe.
Gardening in twilight as you sleep when I wake.

Stacey’s friend

Stacey Stacey, with golden hair.
Three years old, and without a care.
Into the garden, down the path.
With a jump and a skip, out came a small little laugh.
She chased all the squirrels, and sang with the birds.
Muddied her clothes, and watched the cat while she purred.
For alone in the garden, Stacey found such joy.
Away from the anger, her parents, and toys.
The house always heaved, and weighted her down.
A trial separation, her father the clown.
Yet here in the garden, she was among friends.
The fish and frogs, in the pond round the bend.
This bright afternoon, while the social worker hovered.
She found a small butterfly, broken and bothered.
She picked up her new friend and cupped in her hands.
It quivered so slightly, like a small rubber band.
She tried to be quiet, it must be having a nap.
Peaking in through her fingers, to see beauty trapped.
But the butterfly was dying, having suffered a fatal blow.
The hand of a three year old, thrashing in her merry flow.
A tiny little creature, all alone in the world.
Dangerously surrounded by such chaos that swirled.
It fluttered once more then folded and faded.
Leaving the earth, so young and so jaded.
Stacey watched on, waiting for it to spring back up.
She wanted to dance with it by the daisies and buttercups.
Yet after a while, she seemed to understand.
So she buried the butterfly, by the pond in the sand.
And there she left her friend, encased with a tear.
The day she lost beauty, and found only fear.