Middle Meadows Walk

By the clouds, by the stars
I am enclosed

Rachmaninov lifts me from the cement below
Whispering in my cold ears
His orchestra soars
Matching my magnified heartbeat

Half way down the path
My doppelgänger shadows smirk
I fear that I’ll turn around, hands in pockets
To see my own night-time figure peering back

My dark imaginings,
The gothic moon above,
Pulsing strings and deep blue dread
Beams down in Russian black

Everything crescendos
Until I feel my keys

And see the sodium street-lamps
Guide me to my door
With their golden, unblinking eyes

Blackberries

'Blackberries' Pen & Watercolour 2013

‘Blackberries’
Pen & Watercolour
2013

Click on the image for a larger size.

Divisions


dividing orange-yellow days
finite as ever before
fixing glasses on a tuesday
to the tea I hold today, on a wednesday
 
staying immaculate with purple lips on a night
frustration over dinner just a wisp
in the wind of the moon upstairs
and perfume spilling as water, your breath
 
though
I spoke of nothing yesterday
each minute a metal rod
collected around our feet
far from made-up cobwebs in the shop
 
sitting downstairs in the library
a face in a stripe of light
and a woman in pink outside
carrying the skeleton of a forgotten animal
 
the frowning building next-door
a wish and a hope
encased soft in white bread
suffocating silent in plastic tears
 
but enough nonsense now
for this year is better
and the leaves we hold onto
as they fall of their own accord
 
glimmering shadows
past the paint of
your fresh cream door

Moontide



with straining eyes,
she holds a simple glass
milk poured from the grey dark
walks outside to the blue dark

with burning ears,
she breathes in the pinpricks
they fade in blinks
everything still, a silhouette

with white skin,
she passes two hours by
sipped, swigged, taken
the glass is empty

with naked feet,
she sees a sky blushing itself awake
one hundred metres from
a better smudged yesterday