it’s that time of year again
when days draw dark curtain evenings
shorter than the nights are long
and words begin to fail me
as does the light from a depleted sun
that barely scratches holes in the clouds
or penetrates my goose pimpled skin
held together with cold reluctance
the birds seem happy enough
I keep them well fed with encouragement
their songs and chatterings valued
more than they could ever know
but still the words fail me
and with it my engagement with the world
easier to huddle down and retreat
when it’s that time of year again
“nutmeg” he shouted
there was no answer……………
so he called “nutmeg” again
but he couldnot remember
why? why was he calling ?
why was he sat on a bench ?
surrounded by greenhedges
feet shuffling on greygravel
the clouds dishevelled above
the ground opening below
his brain a maze of pathways
deadend doormats untrodden
he called again……………………..
losing sight of you
the smell of your skin
the sound of your voice
walking on out
eyeline tilted horizon
one way test ticket
stripping the ozone
frosted in glass pain
returning to leave
chemtrail blood trickle
singles him out
flesh and bone metal
caged in oxygen mask
out of reach panic button
ether bound definitions
switched off to silence
loss of judgement
over and out
and further still
cast out into oblivion
banned from this dominion
finding you in a parachuting dream
disintegrating into your cloud wings
every second counting
minute by minute
grains of sand falling
hour by hour
time slowly passing
day by day
love and hate making
it’s hard understanding
week by week
the seasons changing
month by month
clocks are ticking
our elders dying
year by year
the grass in the top meadow was cut last night
a warm breeze today will blow dry it into hay
this is the time for renewal and taking stock of our lives
for winter will soon be upon us…
(I took this photo this morning about 8.30 and messed around with it using my editing software. I like the way it now looks as if it’s from a bygone age. All that’s needed are a few people in period costume holding pitch forks next to a donkey and cart. Sometimes we find old photos that have no date, names or explanation. They are glimpsed reminders from the depths of our anonymous past. Mysterious and magical moments to celebrate)
golden rays of sunlight fill our eyes
every newborn sunrise from the dawn of time
captured in the blinking flick of a lens
time immemorial. shuttershocked.
a video framed evolutionary existence
encapsulated in this blood beat gaze
primordial. prehistorized. passing.
a journey back and a glance forward
every stillborn sunrise from the dawn of time
eroded by the wash of infant tears
blushed naked fear. photosnapped.
a moving mastery of previous lives
ancestors suspended in a torsioned vacuum
floating. familiar. future famished.
place your hand in mine and feel the warmth
every burning sunrise from the dawn of time
branded in the dna of chromosomed memories
double helixed. magnetic resonanced.
an x-rayed nuclearoid double vision
twisted on a tendon thread of apprehension
spectre sacrificed. ghostly galleried.
we move onward each day never knowing why
every clouded sunrise from the dawn of time
masked in the blinded misunderstandings of man
war torn. bastard birthed. heartbroken.
what lies beyond our sunlit eyes?
what golden rays fill our brilliant minds?
eternally everlasting. understanding nothing.
(sometimes I wake up with a line in my head repeating over and over and then another and another and I have no idea where each line will take me but I have to jump out of bed and crank up the lappy and take the journey if only to find out where and why and whatever. It doesn’t matter that it makes no sense at all or will never change the world one iota or even be widely read. A friend recently told me: appreciate what you do with this mangled stepchild we all dub poetry. Ha! I love his words and mind and inspired whackery. My cursor arrowed finger hovers over the publish button afraid to let this one go. Click. Gone. Published:)