Bedroom secrets:
the bleak shadows of pure joy,
preparations of a broken bed
to merge the living with the dead;
folding, stretching, patting
the final resting place
for a day’s dirty deeds
done - - - — — — - - -
; without aid
as the morning broke
the thoughts turned pale
the ravishing daylight spoke
in riddled tongue of fear
or Fear, to remain hidden
covered in the night’s embrace
of doves and ducks bestowed.
Bedroom secrets:
to make a bed
one need only to awaken
fold, stretch and pat,
then await the setting sun
a bell’s toll summoning the living
to the bliss of a ready made bed,
heated yet dead.
Poetry Drafts
I wallow in the waves of never-freezing waters,
kiss the round lips of unstained untainted truth,
hum hum and hum — like the shining sea serpent
rising above the salty shoreline searching for prey.
I hide beneath the willow tree,
let its soothing whispers take me
elsewhere, where there are no waters
no truth
no humming noises
and no alluring scales
– to seduce me
Like dust in darkness I am unseen,
unassuming chirps of exultation
escape my nest;
I crave love.
Like dust in darkness I am unseen,
between one thought and another
I rest and remain asleep
while you consider and contemplate
an offering unexpressed;
I crave love
I crave your love.
Like dust in darkness I am unseen,
in between a world of one and …
another’s … fire … burning …
I crave love
I crave your love
I crave the love you will never devote
– a secret lover.
Like dropping leaves in autumn breeze,
they say time heals
and healing is forgiveness,
they say forgiveness heals all with time;
but autumn leaves brown and shrivelled
are no longer … givers – of hope
but mere echoes of a once prosperous life,
haptic illusions crumbling
with the withering wailings
of a child never forgetting
nor forgiving
— with time
Neither the blessed bees, nor the Angels of Art
cursed us with this damming disease of gilded glue,
this slow flow of deafening silence, sadness
and slow demise.
I cannot hear your pounding heart, Your love
is muffled and distant like a corner of your heart
abandoned and deserted me for some other
vaguer cause. I am the keeper of the hives,
maintaining sanity through hearing the honey
soft and slowly running
— away
Your lies once conveyed in Truth
now spewed by birds in flight,
a lamb’s chirp in pursuit of recognition;
a legacy of butchers and little men
tally unstable rulers without rules, balls
or chance of ever becoming anyone
of lasting importance; your legacy
is the rotting onion, the doll
within a doll,
without soil
to prosper.
Your lies once conveyed in Truth
now die by day,
die by night
in the fading light
— of lunacy.
There is meaning, and meanings
hidden amongst the glyphs
and white spaces
separating this from that, us
from
them,
and the new lines
and new pages
intrinsic to every separation.
My meanings safely stored
where you fear to go,
behind the veil of the ordinary
a graveyard of the fallen thoughts,
fallen hopes and the glue
that once bound them; truth
is found on the back of a sticky note,
a remnant of a binding gone wrong
where only fluff remain.
There is meaning, and then
— there is not.
Friends and fading friendships,
like sailing through foggy harbours
horns blasting without ears to see
the fleeting thoughts of a captain
steering, staring, starring
in a final voyage across the seas;
hazy dreams and backs slapped
figs imagined and shoulders tapped;
friends and fading friendships
like bracken without snowmen dancing,
like a wave from an armless man
to an armless woman
walking slowly across the frozen ice
in the harbour of inescapability.