Of Bones and Hate

In the heart of every human face
Lies the sweat of our lost grace
For in this shadow world of form
We are from each other torn

And knowing not what we must be
We wander lost, and long for to be free
Free from all our shackles torn
Though without our flesh we are forlorn

And from our thoughts which wander there
From there is all our terror born

And so we cry for what the broken morning brings
Caged birds alone are the only ones which sing

planting.

This day of ragged breath and weary bone
Is hell and heaven such as we have never known
For weary souls must struggle forth
And pain, being damned, lies heavy on our forms

We have grown unbroken
Grown whole in lives unspoken

This is now immortal time
Where we have died a thousand deaths both quick and fine
Or longer than my dreams were mine

We have lived a thousand worlds
Where friendships lived forgotten
Or broke in waves upon our smiling selves, where bodies were but tokens
Of eternal longing lost and gone
And found afresh in every dawn
Untimely grace will find us still
Through broken bones and timeless will

Birdsong, swansong

So now this song is deeply sad
And speaks of what is lost that we once had

Where in beforetimes when it sweetly spoke
It was of promise, and of spring
And of that lovely unsaid thing

Now that sad song taunts me slow
For what I once did long ago
And now my private heartbreak sounds
Where loneliness has found its open grounds

Yet in those brilliant mocking eyes
I’ve seen a song which never dies
And lonely on our heartbeat lies
   
For goodbyes speak long in tones unheard
When we have woken voices of love’s lonely birds

cigarettes in spring time.

We prayed at the feet of magnolia trees, for their fleeting beauty was sacred unto the spring; and we listened long to the whispered stories of tulips, long silenced in the harsh of winter’s face. Those whispered ghosts of memories we swam through spoke in tones unheard to those of us who breathe in the mist of our unrepentant unseen world. We watched the slow dance of the trees, breathing glad awoke from their long sleep, and knew our secret names lived on, long-stilled from the tongues of men and beasts. We prayed for sun, and rejoiced in the wonder of her coming. We are the dreamers, and those who dare to live in this, the somnambulist’s waking world. Now is the summer of our immortal time, when pain sleeps, and days are seldom dimmed by clouds darker than the sky. We are free here, lighter in our souls than we have many times been, although they are yet enslaved. We dream days here, slow into the morningtime.  The cold of wintertime has stolen to our bones, where we tear those disparate selves of us from our collected sleeping mind. Here now we are awake, in truth, although we sleep and know not what we are. This is the space of dreams, and songs unpenned sing themselves through weary day-long souls.

Full Ages Gone

There has all my memory swum
Full dreaming past
Though love has run

And by and by again we dream
Of ages past
And what has been

This in all the darkness grew
While time was lost
And life bred new

Lost Boy of an Autumn Love

A smiling face, his blue-eyed waste
A wicked tongue
A lovely taste
Where love has been, love still holds true
Love holds his smiling memories blue

Love’s wicked dream
His shameless fire
Throws memories down upon the pyre

What once has been and now is not
Lives on yet still
Though love’s sweet life has been forgot

What dreams are lost in falling time
May yet be found in lonely lines
And autumn’s love was fullness not
We are what we once dreamed and thought

Nighttide Prayer

This elfin child, the dreamlike girl
Spoke in tones much warmer still
Though broken dreams around her fell
And mouth on mouth sought long to fill

For what we seek not long is found
Before it’s lost again deep underground
Withheld from all the beating hearts of men
Withheld inside this heart I seek to pen

We have suffered long to seek
Of trembling love of which we long to speak,
Yet we are held inside ourselves
As prisoners are inside their cells

Love speaks in eyes, in nightly hours
In cold-held hands
And drinking showers

It speaks in dreams
And dreamer’s tongues
Who long to know what is to come

It speaks in grace of what hath never been
And Grace again withholds what she may mean

It speaks again of warm insides
And faith I shook as warmth betides
As dreamers screaming soft and low
Where lovers’ hands do search to go

Much longer now my dream resides
Than those I’ve often sought to find

For this dreamish girl, her elfin face
Speaks in my mind of her lost grace

First thoughts.

Hey there,

So. This is my blog, I suppose. This is a thing that people do these days, isn't it? We write blogs. Blogging. Its a thing. So, here's mine. It's about poems, and stories, mostly. And likely some stray thoughts about things, like this seems to be. (Is blogging such a strange word, or what..?)

Are you still reading? That's great!

Please read my poems.

I like them. I hope you do too.

x.