Grey

Thin, quiet and

Slow, so-slow

That strip of ghost-near land

‘Tween fog-roll banks and

God-dark’d limits of Heaven.

Wearing grey coat, grey mood

I am disquieted observer –

Intruder perhaps –

Unable to decide whether

Light and season

Are approaching

Or leaving

The stage.

There is glory

Both in the winning

And the giving away.

The Madness Rations

With all the delightfully tempting deliberation

Of the sensuous midnight dance, they

Pour their whiskey’d coffee shadows

Into the urban canyon streets.

Honest-to-God light,

As though, silently screaming,

Seeking to escape upwards.

Leaves from ground level,

Now are the panther-hours,

The time of warm-chocolate promises,

Bitter honeys with secret pillows;

The secret language of  darkened doors:

The madness-rations we take

In order to plead sanity.

 

We May Choose …

Come sit with me,

Awhile,

Among the lilac castles of

Nightland Skies.

We may choose to sing

The wordless choruses

Of vixen and candle hymns.

The Wide Dark

Sun-bright,

Stun-bright

Party of brittle colours

Buzz without business,

Confuse and confound;

For I am bred of shadows,

Like the Embers

Fierce red light beaming down

From somewhere near-to-God

Walks across the audience and

We glow like the embers that

Ring the eyes of a hunting harrier.

We Could Have … ?

The first night?

A different night?

The last night?

The only night?

A different night?

And who would have thought

We could have flown so high,

Got so far; fragile bone frames

Wrapped in simple rags?

My Lady of May

In the way the moon

Is proof of the sun

You are the heart of me,

The ladder that

Helps me fall safely.

Darkness is nothing

Without the promise

Of light.

 

6/5/2012