Pink moon

Full moon casts

no shadow, pulls

 

water from our cells

leaving only madness.

 

No shadow on

a purple lawn

 

tulips eerie white

in the lamp light

 

night memory

haunts me.

 

Room sweats

blossom’s orange bloom

 

Mediterranean tresses.

Fingers of the East

 

pull me towards

another dawn

 

rocked in Earth’s

crucible.

Bereft

My muse has fled

she’s flicked her hair

 

& disappeared.

 

She’s sick of

faithless lovers

 

rainy days,

the tick, tock,

 

of mortality.

 

My muse has left

she’s whirling with

 

the kestrel, & I’m

chasing sunbeams

 

a golden pathway

left by winged feet

 

wide expanse of

blue blue yonder

 

where the light

glistens.

Lemon tree

 

Lemon blossom sweet

at my window

 

far from Spanish hills

you bloom

 

I whisper to you

apologise for the pinch

 

of English spring:

no coronet of sun

 

to crown your

pretty head.

 

Your essence

soothes me.

 

Citrus scent

with undertone

 

of musk,

you must

 

miss your lovers.

 

Over on my sill

orange stares

 

at you,

less abandoned

 

compact & smugly

fruiting.

 

 

Who ever

Who, ever thought

we’d live this long

 

grow grey & jowly

our spirits tired of

 

fighting.

 

‘’Forever’’ was

a misused word

 

bandied on the stage

of youth.

 

Here I watch the trees

watch, before & after me.

 

Those games we played

the songs we chose

 

to cleave to:

 

our children grown

from playing at our knees

 

are strangers now.

 

We never knew

we’d grow this old

 

our poets’ hearts

still singing, laughing

 

at the soft creep

of years.

Season

 

House holds

its breath,

 

sighs out

the seasons

 

whisper of

lost memory

 

passing of the

centuries

 

like minutes.

 

Time holds

my hand

 

these kisses

that I knew

 

our love

so all consuming

 

has faded

to a smile

 

a passing

touch.

 

Yet spring is

in my haiir

 

the breeze

untangles

 

knots & hasps

it leaves us

 

open.

 

 

Narcissus hangs

heavy

 

filling room with

spring scent

 

the thought

of love.

 

Narcissus rang

again

 

talking always

of himself;

 

walked into

the mirror

 

of my eye

lodged there

 

unblinking.

 

Narcissus pink

feminine:

 

heavy petals

stroke the vase

 

promising to fall

as I might

 

under your

Narcissus thrall.

 

 

This

[Listen here ]

Spring tiptoes

in this year

 

acid green puffs

through old

 

crushed copper.

 

I tend borrowed

soil: earth crumbles

 

sensate, stuck sticky

beneath nails.

 

All is new, perfect,

intrinsic life:

 

I stand erect

like cherry attending

 

bumbling bee.

 

Haunting the twilight

I walk a fine line

 

nostrils flaming.