Diverted by a distant light

Dreaming hopeful and sifting sand.
A hollowed doubt in a burning hand.
As eyes peel back and strip the moon.
This silent feeling is gone too soon.
We count the days that fall like birds.
With tarred up feathers and swallowed words.
Two throbbing hearts break forth and run.
Leaving shadows and souls in that dying sun.

 

 

Assuming such regret

Shaking while the structures fell.
Watching as the house burns.
Departure seemed the only possibility.
But what caused us to remain.
Clearing up the wreckage, counting the shards of the moon we forgot we stole.
Little parts of yourself that clung with the moon dust.
What ambivalence we had for time.
Laughing in the face of it while the world spun.
Now a suitcase filled with memories aches to be moved.
And all talk of solo flying ruffles these steel feathers.
How can I remain while you plan on deserting me?
The orchids weep in the face of such kinetic air.
A tolerance, only from afar.
Little familiar fingers bring words to mind.
Dramatic embarrassments in the downturn of something hopeful.
A future love, packaged and boxed; sent out into the world.
We wear the familiar on our sleeve, little desperations join the others that weigh into the world.
A first white flag raises with the new dawn.
And our name-tags turn to you and I.
Strangers wishing to join the others, and the multitudes of our successors.
Blaming the past for never finding god in the like-minded sorrow.
Who promised the world, and only received tomorrow.

Nothing lasts forever

Heaven begins to collapse.
Those words begin to relapse.
And these pockets of affection slip back into your soul.
For without them you can’t feel whole.
My love is not enough it seems.
To break the skin, and split the seams.
These wings cannot comfort, in the oncoming storm.
Now this connection becomes unborn.
And you slip away in the dark when the night covers.
Lying to yourself, and others.
That you are only what you need.
When it’s the love you begin to recall.
And with it, angels falls.

The Smoking Nun

God’s grace, bathed in divine light.
Casting gold over cracking skin and fallen vows.
The vessel inside, so empty at the beginning.
Now overflows like a cup of human kindness.
What troubles does she have at the seat of the saints?
What ails her heart that cannot be soothed?
Sweet words from Jesus must mend the wound.
She smiles at a knowing, a celestial secret.
Whispered to her in the musky wooden rooms of god.
All this is but temporal.
All pain is marginal.
Your being is relative to the consciousness you invoke.
So why does she smoke?

Clemency

Is it really redemption if it comes so easy?
What cost is paid in tears that no one sees?
You handle me like sad broken happiness.
Planting the dead bits of me like seeds.
A flawed parlour trick turning on sympathy.
Coated in words that stick like regret.
You try to scrub this soul clean, sucking out the darkness.
Breaking yourself, to let in the light.

Tender

Like the night. A soft velvet expanse.
Reaching through time.
Through misty eyes which open wide.
They devour me.
In a kiss that kills me, over and over.
Yet tenderly I swim down.
Passing jagged words you keep inside.
Released, only to the moon.
As you howl them into nothingness.
For tender is your way.
Sweet bruises of affection which stay,
within us forever.
As we nestle into the tender wings of love.
Slipping into time.

A Funeral of thoughts

An earthy taste in your mouth.
The soil that slips from your lunar lips.
Is a burying of the old.
Broken thoughts grown frail and forgotten.
They’d rambled in your mind like an aged pensioner.
One that no-one bothered to check on.
Whose milk bottles of intent built up on their doorstep.
These thoughts tried to slip away in the night.
Silently and painless in the light of a new day.
In the light you bring.
Those thoughts that are the shadows of self.
From the dark side of the moon of the mind.
Fearful of the sun, that shines from your eyes.
Dirt, on my pillow when I wake.
Burying the thoughts in dreams masked as nightmares.
Finally, dead and buried.

Heliocentric detours

A story unfolding at the speed of life.
Unplugged or imbedded.
I think I missed the Milky Way.
Drinking once more from a cup of stars.
Do these words seem familiar?
As they slide once more into focus.
Chewing on your past like a shark in a bathtub.
Filled to the brim with sorrow.
Eyes, that are empty.
Call for tomorrow.
As your moon hangs heavy in your heart.
Blue, like the subterfuge that shrieks past like a shooting star.
Call it what you want, taste it like confusion.
But be sure to rinse you mouth with the irresistible.
And swallow the sublime.

Gospel of no-one

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Your own personal bible, offering a glimpse into worlds you will never normally see. Words struck down, not by God, but by those souls who visited St. Sebastian’s church and who dissected their own sacred hearts for you.

Hidden under the base of a statue of Mother Mary, the current pastor of St. Sebastian’s church discovers a small tightly bound book, the contents of which explain the demise of the previous Father, Father Nikolas and the confessions of those who frequented the church throughout his time there. A journey through pain, doubt and forgiveness; the book opens the eyes and hearts and asks everyone for their own confessions.

‘The Gospel of no one’ is a hybrid novel mixing fiction and poetry, orbiting religious imagery and spirituality. Hope, mixed with the horror of being only human.

Just a reminder that The Gospel of no-one is out now in eBook and Paperback. If you’ve purchased it already, thank you; but don’t forget to review and tell a disciple. Comments or questions; please sound off below. Enjoy. For more books, check out the books section

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I see red

My eyes itch and my heart heaves.
Reading over and over.
Line after line.
Pulling me out of traffic, pulling me into your frame.
Surround yourself with good intentions.
A swirling world of your black and white.
Yet all I see is red.
The swan song that you misunderstand.
Plucking my heartstrings for the correct rhythm.
The right sound.
Colour your lines. Careful now, make it pretty.
This is the page we’re on, this is the hymn we’ll sing.
My story snipped down to a footnote.
A sentence that mice can devour.
In your book of course.
What was I thinking?

Down for the count

Hitting below the belt, is now your signature move.
Nurturing such a disregard for me.
Bruising my inner self, my words that always came up empty.
Spat out with blood and hope.
Your maturity sent me reeling, down to the mat.
Waiting for the bell.
You can tolerate me from afar you say.
Like breaking away from a hug, it leaves me devastated.
Yet I remain. Quiet and composed. Taught to hold my head up high.
Dodging intentional verbal daggers and manufactured truths.
Your truths, your reasoning. Your horse blinders on for style.
Over substance. Over my comfort.
Through this pedestal championing, you shoulder massaging.
Cuts deep the vein of my self-respect.
Making my feel ignorant to your perfect sane mind.
I stutter and slip, tripped up on your words.
Unable to reason or fight fire with fire. Caught in your orbit.
All this time wishing on a star that was merely your own satellite.
Just a poet in your world, trying to chase the undefinable.

Embark on erasing

Erasing the love, no time to argue.
I was always alone in this, now the broken hearts magnetise themselves to me.
Please, flow in another direction.
If the pain doesn’t kill me then your apologies will.
Hold your head high, fill it with promise.
I don’t know what I mean anymore.
Words leave chalky marks on my tongue and holes in your heart.
Too much time to question these directions.
Part of it lies, part of it hope.
I throw them into the sky, hoping the sun will swallow them.
Burn out these thoughts and throw a different shadow upon me.
This day is done, and all is fading.
Set sail on a sea of illusion, taking on water, lifting the anchor of you.

Combat(ing)

Simple words that cut me down the middle.
Do you know the shock-waves?
They effortlessly drip off your tongue.
I look away.
You go primeval, you lash and rage like a savage.
The maddening reasons of the realistic and selfish.
These scars that I show, the ones that never healed, they bleed again.
Oozing out blood and hurt like long forgotten wars.
Not ready for this skirmish, your monologues of conflict.
Declamations shake me to my soul and make me shiver out a recourse.
This moment smashes into my future, obliterating my plans.
You dance the tribal dance of difference, circling the fire and the thoughts in my mind.
I walk away from the flames and carnal look in your eyes, with tears in my own that decorate my skin.
The sound of drums fade, but never disappear completely.