Monday, 28 January 2019

The Passion

    
Here's a long story,
a glorious rapture descending - 
vines creeping, into veins and blood,
foliate bosses and hood-moulds 
crenellating,
the doors to Narnia's portal. They left my finger
hopelessly trailing,
over,
time
immortal. The long shadow of a broken sceptre,
ground beneath:
the bone collector, shaft of dust,
through long windows thrown
lighting wildflowers impossibly grown from the
ruins of matins,
prime and nones, 
a mystery extant speaks of all
that is gone in the wind,
the rain:
in the unholy fires,
the crashing down of celestories and 
spires, and I wandered amongst them; their gritty texture,
whispering of lauds,
compline and vespers, a scratch in
the buttress, striking the time: eyes to heaven and glitter
falls down my spine, still, and the doves that call,
from the remnant of a crossing,
emboss my heart and spread wings in my chest - 
where once the vestments 
were plain,
I see a myriad of colours overlain:
as a pale hand in a silken glove.
And it was here, I recall, my head began to spin with it.
It was here
I fell 
in love. 
  

Sunday, 27 January 2019

Inspiration

   
(Poetry challenge by The Leeds Savage Club - includes or inspired by music or lyrics)

Moments of melting, fingers in dirt,
sky-rolls, and breaths, and meeting
of the first days of summer, 
in wet-heat and 
joy: every little thing
is gonna be
alright.
    
You-thirst, and light bursts,
behind
silent nights. Stars and sun-kisses and 
gentle moonlight sands,
with fire
on the rocks: I'm gonna be 
where the lights
are shining on me.
    
Hoof-prints in the wind, and
smeared in dust,
laughter and tomorrow's
day-old rust of decision,
and trusting knowledge
of past;
lean on me,
when you
are not strong.
    
Hold on,
and coffee
on a Saturday morning, cliff-tops
and slow afternoons of dawning 
truth that shapes clouds
and holds hands at canter;
just be mine,
be mine.
    
Rum and ice-rocks, and the 
edges of never, the drumbeats of 
hearts
on the verge of 
forever-remember as 
night calls them home, 
without thinking:
I walk the line. 
    
I follow its thread
to wherever the bread
crumbs and candy 
shall snake and lead; an inky-pink seahorse,
Pegasus,
a unicorn,
and me. All follow the rainbow;
for there ain't
no sunshine
when she's gone,
and I guess 
you'd say
we were mind-dancing all along. 
   

Full Circle

   
"All in time," said a whispering wind, as it
passed me by on a length of
gold string, floating, beyond a morning's slow rise...
"...all at the twist and the turn
of a tide, where the demons will fear to go."
   
Hot sunlight through glass
cast an exquisite glow, on the cobwebs
where they tangled,
as flies, and they could not follow,
and all at once, I saw tomorrow in the mirror
of eyes, and sweet tinges of rust,
   
and all the stars gathered
amongst white, swirling dust, to etch with a finger,
silver doves,
and the touch of a hand
was surely enough, to send me crashing
to my childhood's knees;
   
I was covered in ivy-shade
and honeybees, as I wiped away a world
I had known: I surrender all the days of a life untold,
to most, but the cherished, unknown,
   
and standing in the safest of circles,
I confess,
right or wrong, I am home.
   

The Story

    
Here is, I suppose, a very long story,
though the chapters last 
mostly nights,
and mornings, and if you read the pages 
all crumpled together,
many years go by, a fable of forever...I was never
without you, my soul never separate,
my spirit never
less
temperate than it is 
in this tale, and your arms;
a soul-doctor takes oath
to do no harm and I see none, where the world
would see much - nothing wrong with this 
moonlight-touch and the magic that follows us
still,
stolen, silent; not a will, but a must and a need 
indulged,
red letters all divulged on a scrap quickly thrown
in the flames...
come...I'll make you, forget your name, again, with 
this breath on your skin...
here is a long story, that you and I,
over and over,
begin.
  

Strange Tale

   
You could call it a strange tale,
wherever you came from, for it seemed I turned
around one day to
the sound of a distant song that you were singing
on a tree branch
somewhere high, and all at once
I could see nothing
but
the colour
of the sky when my eyes first found you,
and the deeper soul of yours; hear nothing but my beauty
where once were only flaws and cracks so many, time fell still and lost,
so great had been my sacrifice,
the giving and the cost of what had gone before,
the things I'd let them take,
so deep had been my Excalibur at the bottom of a
haunted lake, that I was certain,
such strength would never return,
but fingers interlaced with yours, to smoulder and
to burn became my natural state:
my morning and my night,
your tiger to my lioness, flames licked beneath
moonlight reflecting
on the sea,
all full where once was void, to leap at stars
and then be free in waves and foam,
in ecstasy and joy.
   
And then to scratch, upon the rocks
and bleed, you made me show you,
my every wound
and mark,
and told me amidst my shame, they were
amour pieces of courage
that
not ever had been scars:
and you stopped my heart and pointed,
how dark the sky had grown above,
and reached into the lake with
a fist of iron love - you drew out Excalibur,
and handed him to me;
'I never saw
a knight more worthy,'
you whispered
on the breeze.