Melange

Duet

I feel the sharp prickle of you
behind my eyes,
your view competes for space
with my own.

Sanity calls for one voice,
insanity craves yours too;
Loves' eccentricity
may blend them
in time.

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Flight of Fancy

Ride that broomstick of thought
Dear Heart
but, leave the landing gear down;
I'll be waiting with the kettle on
if you jettison that frown.

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Domestic Violets

He mistook her silent fear
for entrenched arrogance;
his listening skills
muffled
in the shrieks of his own
walled-in terror,
clawing
at misogyny's masonry.

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Refrain

The more he beat her
the more he knew
he could not break her,
until at last
his fists fell silent
in loves pulse
swelling indigo.

Beckoning, the night
reclaimed her voice.

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Makes Perfect

Our thumbs kiss
On the middle C,
fingers splayed
stroke the keys
to life.

We learn
our practice piece
anew,
left and right
sometimes
falter on
a harsh note;

to return
to kiss on
the middle C.

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Of The Spheres

Each note pealed resounding;
random in order, yet
exquisite clarity,

I asked for your thoughts.
you gave me windchimes.

I will give you Scarlatti,
Sonata in F minor.

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Pandoras Music Box

Fourteen years of Hi-Fidelity,
Love, unquestioning and inchoate;
he could birth no poetry
to reveal internal state.

He gave me a song;
damned for all time
with Alice’s ‘Poison’

2004
edited into collecton 12.03.09
minor edit 5.12.09
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Rue

Another day of chatty calls,
caterwauls,
solutions sought,
lost in doubt.
Life skeins, past
self, unravelling.

Knotted hands lapse, limp,
catscradled in a lap
of gordian knots.

Splice shimmering silks
spun gossamer fine,
unpick rags and tat
from bullion twine.

Stray kittens play, as kittens may,
but O, what they leave behind.

2004(edited in to collection 02.04.09)
minor edit 5.12.09
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Canals On Mars

Listen;
do you hear
your own bloodrush,
mistake it for mine?

Those wires, lines,
intubations,
overdesigned ministrations
to capture my essence,
in summation reveal;

a sense of your plastic
life. Flexible in heat,
rigid in my frost.

You know nothing of me,
lost,
in translation to your void.

posted 2.1.09
(Edited in to collection 10.04.09)
minor edit 5.12.09
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Go Wilde In The Country

I do not write in iambs ticky tock;
a darker fleece among pastoral flock.

The words I use, are frequently disposed
to form themselves in huddles, as they choose.

Perhaps, the answer lies in close cropped grass;
poor nourishment is found where sheep have passed.

So, off into the Wilde I blithely stroll,
hoping to conceive of something droll.

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edited in to collection 24.04.09

------
update 25.05.09: came across this
http://news.bbc.co.uk/1/hi/england/2541761.stm
I'm impressed!
minor edit 5.12.09
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Throb

When white space calls,
like a child's cry in the dark,
there is no sleep. No peace
until a quill is dipped
into lifes' blood;
well of unconditioned love,
to give and give and give again.

Comfort, lull, and by and by,
hearts beat as one in power
of all moments. Breathe together,
into a fastness of human,
plainsong of light and living.

----

edited into collection 13.07.09
minor edit 5.12.09
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Ascending

When even One sees prismatic
shift from grey, as the wheel

slows; perception of revisited
words, delight in then and now,

shared for the moment when
they accrued value, became.

Then, I, is as nought,
on visible spectrum.
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edited into collection 21.03.10
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Inflammatory Terms

Always; pronounced with casual flair
by a casual set. An accent to trade,

here and there, for love. Though unspoken
rider, If, and, But for, should love prove

unwieldy, holds the back door wide open
to gales. Clauses bluster around

their casual hearths, waft sparks, catch
casual drapes, and burn the whole lot down.

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2004 edited into collection 7.06.10
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Illusory

Wildfire laughter leapt in echoes
through the vicarage, ringing off
cracked tombstones in peals of life.

Two adventurers, wooden swords flailing,
running with The Lion, gifted bow and knife.

Swore our pact we’d never lose our impetus,
wrestling foul demons when we grew old.

Lost, in a story book fairytale of innocence;
where good triumphs, if hearts are bold.

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12.04 edited in to collection 7.06.10
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Goldilocks (IP)

Crackle leaf foot fall, bracken screen parts,
safety curtain on memory rises; my stage.

Shall I descend scree to your level,
flounce my frills, trill my lines.

How accomplished foster child,
you cried, Dance again for guests.

New swell of your rippled fur belly
signed my departure; Wrong skin,

I won't fit in. By heartmap, I return;
reclaim my place at your hearth.

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26.08.10 edited into collection 28.08.10
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*Shades of the Green Lady

Was my eyeline weathered by reports of a storm,
greygreen fastening of bone on your gown,
seafoam, imaginings, hoarse cries, perfumed
by guidebooks, that tapestry mind on looms
strung high on estate and profit.

Gun metal clouds, apricot tinged
by archeological finds rescind our tryst,
on steps, salted in tears, seakissed,
eroded by rime, safe footing missed.

I fall with your hopes, chain mail glimpsed;
guardian of stone and might.

Tumble, childbundle adrift in class fears,
charged by moon, or man's inhuman fist.
Swim against rip tides, severed from shore
or simply impact on earth floor.

August, refined, sift through cynical riddle,
magnified by craft, presentiment's huddle;
I doubt that this structure will change.

*Wearside mysteries
http://tinyurl.com/3xrwdtu
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24.08.10 edited into collection 28.08.10
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Slaughter

'For a' that', are you sure;
this herd's a breed for milking.
Homogenous, all ungulates
exude a tutored gripe.

Now blow the wind to fill the sails
of all who grind our children,
for the bread of future giants,
minds bent on the horizon.

But e'en rare, nurtured,
pasture green, treasured,
breastfed and sound of teeth,
will e'er provide our silken beef ,
tossed and saute'd, 'for a' that'.

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For A' That http://tinyurl.com/dbordw

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edited into collection 25.01.11
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Legacy

When you measure me,
in liquids and solids,
clinisticks and scales,

I wonder at my temperment,
things at which I rail.

Does it accord with findings
recorded 'as not hale',
or bypass all your science,
safe quartered in a bale
of hay; harvested mind,
strands of memory. Tales
are what we are, collective
bundles of culture,

twined as fodder, frail
hope of nurture,
for the ones we leave behind.

==============================
in need of a good tweak
edited in to collection 04,02.11
==================================