my beautiful girl

my beautiful girl
went gallivanting off
into the storm
her curls in the clouds
twisted in tree branches
her siren song
whistling with the wind
peeling with thunder
lightened with laughter
her bare feet squelching out
the loughs and the seas
she formed the mountains
with her breasts and thighs
no rest or sleep
whilst I wept and worked
her galley slave oiled and lustful
chained to the oar locks
I dragged across the heavens
the stars for her
and fitted them one by one
into the orbits of her eyes
where shining like diamonds
she became forever
my beautiful dream

(to read more in this series please click on the Shepherdess tag below )

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out

out
through the gaps
that rattle and trap
westerly sea breezes
between grey slate tiles
and wooden slats
the seahorses race
over green rolling hills
and with them
the shanty sighs of fishermen
their black notes hung
on cormorant wings
borne aloft
on white beards of spray
the churning
yearning tides of time
keeping secrets hidden
like buried treasures
cannons and caskets
doubloons and bones
shipwrecked with all hands lost
as we all must surely
someday
succumb

The view from my window
St. Ives, Cornwall
Sunday 10th. February 2019

in slow motion

tree falls
in slow motion
death dive

bridge building
in the dark
across the ravine

a vixen
takes her chance
tiptoes over

gives thanks
for richer pickings
on the other side

a storm brews
the tree shifts
falls in slow motion

the fox stranded
accepts new home
raises family

your name and mine

the storm last night blew
the last remaining heart-shaped leaves
from the poplar trees
and swirled them through my darkest dreams
in which your knuckles rapped upon my eyelids
in which you called from beyond the clouds
my name and your name

and with growing intensity
every last remaining rusting roofing nail
that keeps my house from blowing asunder
jiggled like loose teeth in a crowded coffin box
on which your fingers had once released
the suffocating soil to bury my voice
from that day forth

oh that I would recognise you now
with your hair tangled in windblown knots
and your limbs akimbo amongst the fallen branches
strewn upon the orchard grass
where leaves lie rotting and colour is drained
from cheeks that once were apple flushed
with your lover’s kisses

you are but the ambient past to me
pliant and fluid with a light that glimmers
not guiding or warning or even moving
but still as a mirror on an oaken table
your calfskin gloves neatly folded
heart-shaped leaves from the poplar trees
pressed between the pages of your journal

all substance turned to dust that blows
on the opening of the crackling memory
you offered me no more than you could
the leaf held to the moonlight reveals its veins
as if the blood has been preternaturally drained
and I am left with only an echo
of your name and mine