A candle flame
pulses in time
to the effortless
flow of my blood,
inspiration
through nostrils
and throat,
slight coolness
and warmth,
soft moving air.
The tangerine flame
dances for the spirit
of this place,
shedding a golden
penumbra
caught in mahogany
along with my face.
Her suitcase packed
she gazes wearily out,
little lives in snug houses
pass in time to clacking wheels,
she sighs with the brakes,
pats her carry on bag,
imagines her arrival in Venice;
she sits feeding pigeons
in St Mark’s Square,
a rendezvous, a tall dark stranger
calls her Bella and kisses her,
the daily commute to the city
now yesterday’s news.
She stretches morning’s stiffness
out through her fingertips,
smiles secretly.
Tangerine spiders
trapped in amber
walls of the maze,
passages slide
slick under
my fingers.
I tread barefoot
on soft anthracite
wending my way
stepping out
a mother’s prayers
to the heart
where a waterfall
tinkles with
the dreams
of a young bride
seeking a true love
in her groom
that remains
long after the last
rose petal falls;
that reveres
fecund hips
with ripening seeds
and sees beauty
in bare branches
and thorns.
Routines creep greedily,
whispering seductively,
swallowing moments
as the jaws of unrelenting
deadlines loom
laughing, ahead
hairpin beds,
whatever you do,
don’t stand still,
keep moving or
you will be roadkill.
Ethereal hugs,
smiling stars,
words crossing time
from night
to morning,
to evening
with the tap
of a button
a fellowship
appears.
Candle flickers
against the creeping night,
soft snores, only me awake.
A blessed peace enfolds me,
my thoughts roam
forests of possibilities
and forking paths,
moonbeams guide
my steps through
chance and necessity
to the cave where
I await midnight peels
of the church bell.
A blue cat appears,
taps my nose
with a velvet pad,
looks deep into my eyes
and smiles.
We watch the clouds
cross the face of the moon
together.
The bell rings
twelve times.
Seeking attention,
it whooshes and whines
insistently,
chasing grey contours
across the sky,
dredging channels
for sun rays
to blast through
so I squint.
It batters vegetation
to test what will bend
and what will crack;
sucking moisture
from each leaf and pore.
Plastic bags fly enthralled,
birds sit silently in trees
hoping the wind
will get bored soon
and move on.
This is for Meeting The Bar: A Martian sharpens his knife over at dVerse. Thank you to Samuel Peralta for bringing us today’s Meeting the Bar article.. there are some excellent poems here
I have used a blank verse of couplets for my take on estrangement.
Green supple silicon pricks my soles,
it spreads without a centre.
A bullet with six segmented sticks
flies with veined cellophane wings.
Grey brown particles, carbon, minerals
have the scent of dead blood and bone.
Organic structures reaching for the sun
mirrored reaching for the magma core below.
Spectrums broken into different waveforms
a compass for the lifeforms.
Sticky powder sits in baskets
attracting creatures swimming in air.
Pliable pipe creature with a circle mouth
spits droplets, mix of oxygen and hydrogen.
I stand
in a dome
veined monochrome
against darkening blue.
Puddled sepia mirrors
on a muddy track
by my feet
saturation.
I watch
seconds slide
on rolling hills
shadows creep
from lonely trees.
A thin red line
marks the edge
of a new day
over there,
here stars break
through
time runs still.
I walk on footpaths
with the dog,
marvellous reason
to stop, peer into homes
pondering what makes a home,
how many of these houses are homes,
easy to spot the rentals,
the gardens say it all,
some clipped, contained in lines,
others rambling, dripping wisterias,
ivy, and the dreams of parks,
oaks, hostas nestling in the shade,
a burst of opportunistic orchids,
red and tangerine,
happy grass, gratitude to La Nina,
life and sap flowing in empty streets;
hard rubbish on naturestrips
smellworthy,
we spot a swivel chair,
no rips or stains, hydraulic works;
we make haste back home,
stop at the greengrocer
for the doggie’s daily carrot and a pat,
we jump in the car
claim the thrown out chair.
Me on Twitpic
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