THE DARK ABYSS

Darkness
Like a blanket
Pulled too tight
On a warm day
And sweeps
Over the body
And seeps,
Like a sickness,
Beneath the skin.

Darkness,
Like clouds blocking
Out a summers sun,
Covers life from light
And sucks,
Like a leech,
At love
And laughter.

Darkness,
Like the enemy,
Fakes falsities
To befriend you
Then blinds you,
Breaks you,
Betrays you,
Drains you.

Darkness,
Like an itch
You cannot scratch,
Grates its way
Along your spine
To pierce you,
Panic you,
Pull you
Down,
Dull and deep,
And leaves you
In the abyss
Lost.

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FLYING IN AIR

I am airborne,
Life is being lived
Beneath me
Amid the flickering lights,
In the daunting darkness,
Like festive fairies twinkling-
All myth and mystery,
Miles away
Amid mountains
That look like molehills,
Meandering mechanically
In moving motors.

I am now living
In the breath held,
Passing through time,
Pausing,
Passive,
Patient,
Pondering possibilities,
Playing ability
Against probability
Wondering where I will rest
One day, that day
When wings ring out
With weariness
And my feet find their land again
And path to plod along.
I know
What lies beneath,
Have seen the suction
Of the cites
And their seduction,
Have seen the wonder
In the wilderness
Where wolves are wild
And winds are free,
But I am ignorant
Of what rests above,
Up there,
Out of reach,
Far from sight
In the darkening deafness,
Beyond the burnt out stars
And all understanding of existence.

I am airborne,
Live is being
Lived out
Beneath me,
Without me,
And I wonder
Are the souls
Who left me
Long ago
Flying above me?

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FRAGILE BEAUTY

Fragile beauty

Caught in the garden,

Flickerings of ruby red

Tenderly unraveling

From garlands of green

Amid a day

Named ordinary.

It is the fairest pleasure,

The simplest suggestion of perfection,

Nature unearthing itself

Onto the world

And yet

It is the easiest

To crush-

A cry of crimson

Carelessly caught

In the chaos

Of our calloused hands.

We are the blossom

Of our dull days

And are no more

Imperishable,

Unbreakable,

Immortal

Than a rose

Risen one day

To be clipped the next,

Never knowing

How a season can be

But a minute,

A year

But an hour,

A lifetime

But a day.

We hold the beauty

In our fragile fingers,

Careful we must be

How tightly

We clutch our lives,

For only in our hands

Can we shape it,

Share it

And ensure

It survives.

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Christmas, It’s A Wonderful Life

Bells and baubles bound to branches
While tinsel twists and turns and ties,
Santa’s sleighs and snowmen dancing
Lights all aglow like stars in skies,

On the tree an angel sparkles,
Crackers to pull and bells to ring,
Neath the tree a manger slumbers
With a bed that waits for a King,

Reindeers leap with noses glowing
And crystal snowflakes catch the light,
Mama’s wrapping, Daddy’s snoring
While not a child can sleep tonight,

Carrots washed and the cookies laid
The fire is out and chimney preened,
Sprouts are steeping and pudding’s made
Stockings hung and the turkey cleaned,

On the telly Julie’s singing
Over the hills and next to nuns,
In their beds kids are dreaming
Of barbie dolls and small toy guns,

The cards have come and candles lit,
Mistletoe placed and holly hung,
Cupboards bursting and bellies full,
Potatoes pealed and Bing has sung,

Sons and daughters are back at home
Reunions made and laundry done,
Mince pies warmed and the mulled wine brewed
Carolers called, charades begun,

In the dawn all children wakening
Reaching out to stockings now filled
Leap down stairs to gifts awaiting,
Their magic, myth and dreams fulfilled,

Big bird’s in the oven cooking
Husband will carve to charm the wife,
The crib’s now filled with the new born King
Its Xmas tradition, it’s a Wonderful Life.

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Merry Christmas Everyone

WICKED WILLS

The wolves are out,
Baying in the shadows,
Fetid breath fowling air,
Drool dribbling in the darkness.
The wolves are out,
Growling gratuitously,
Muzzle sniffing movement,
Fangs feverish for flesh.
The wolves are out,
Their scent; steaming,
Their eyes; searching
For substance to satisfy.
The wolves are out,
Their panting petrifying,
Prowling on poised paws
Picturing us as prey
The wolves are out,
Our streets; their forest now,
Our buildings; their shelter,
Our fear; their force.
The wolves are out,
Drawing disguises
From our likenesses,
Slivering among us
Sniffing out old scars
And worn wounds
To leap at lavishly,
Devour on desperately.
The wolves are out,
Tail twisted in and under,
Standing tall on hind legs,
Shaved bodies to assimilate,
Poured over in perfume
But their stench lingers
To stale the street.
The wolves are out,
There’s horror in their howling
And chaos in their cackling,
Predators posing as persons,
But no pretence parts them
From their purpose
And I worry what their wicked will wants.

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THE WOKEN DREAMER

I am the woken dreamer,
Lost from all faith
In the magic.
Finding an impossibility
In the longevity
Of ever after.

Is it really no more than
The stuff and nonsense
Of fairy tales
And children’s dreams,
Not fit at all
For real mens lives
And the in betweens?

I was willing once
To find favour
In the moment
But they have fallen,
So infrequent of late
That I fancy them now
To be the filling of folly,
Frivolous and fortune-less.

There were others once,
One time dreamers
Who once danced their dream
In to mine.

Did we lose each other,
Or was it all but a trick,
Have I spoken too soon,
Or have I woken too quick?

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THE STRUGGLE

To be a poet of
The heart and mind
Is to step away
From all that is close
And to look back
From afar.
To struggle
With the truth
Of what we are told
And to search for
What we believe.
To fall on the road
And document the struggle
To stand again.
To be torn from
The heart of your dearest
By the changing hand
Of that very heart
And find a place again,
In your own, alone.

To breath again
And remind yourself
To do this daily,
To look into the dark
And, in blindness,
Search for the light.

To dream at night
While accepting
The reality
Of the coming dawn.

To open your eyes
To an unknown world
When you were safe
In the one you’d accepted.
To wander
The lonely road
That you must take,
Alone.
To cry,
To shed your pain,
To cleanse your body,
To clear out
So as to move on.
To sob
In the face of beauty
And smile
In the midst of horror
So as to live.

To travel
The mind’s horizons
And discover the bounties
Hidden in its depths
So as to release the poet
Inside lays within us all.

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TEMPTATION

Tongue tickling
With the thought
Of trilling you,
Teasing you,
Tempting you

Down and deep
And dirty…

Fingers fidgeting
With a feeling
To frisk you
And find fun
And frolics

Flirt with flesh
and fondle…

Submitting
To a supple session
Of scandal,
Seeking the sinner
To satisfy the senses

Sweaty and sweet
And sexy…

Panting
In part
At the possibility
Of puckering pleasure
Upon the pivotal points

To please, play
And prevoke…

Longing to lock
Lips on lips
And let lust linger
Long enough
To leave us

Light and lived
And longing

For more…

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CINQUAIN IN FRANCE

I see
In a vast bar
On the edge of my past
A boy so lost amid the crowd
And you,

There was,
In the mayhem,
A sense of happening,
A feeling of the familiar
In you,

Brown shirt
And dark blue jeans,
Gaze so deep to drown in
And a gentleness that caught me
Unaware,

In truth,
I had not seen
Or noticed you come in
But from the moment I saw you
I knew,

You were
The smile I sought,
The acceptance I craved,
The friendship I needed to find
At last,

I was
The curious
Little bird who’d found flight
And a place to perch in Paris
But then
In France
I was foreign,
A fool to fortitude
And invisible to all eyes
But yours,

I found
As time trickled
A fondness in that find,
A connection in the chaos
To last
Past boys
And men who came
To try us and test us
To see us laugh and to see us
Fall down.

I will
In these few lines
Try my best to thank you
For taking the time to see me
Back then,

The smile
That you offered
On that night, in that bar
Made a fearful foreign young boy
Feel home.

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