Morning frost and Sunday melodies.

Morning mist sweeping through quiet streets, kissing frost embraced blades of luscious Green grass as a pale sun hides from sight, gathering Sunday morning thoughts on gentle melodies of songs gone by. And I watch the magpie, watching me and I know the ancient symbolism of its soul like the back of my expressive pen that pours ink haphazardly across the blank canvas of a soul awakening, sleeping, awakening and I hear the whispers of higher thought calling through droplets of dew quenching a thirst I cannot see and she is gone, her song echoing still…I watch the mist curling, swirling thick and heavy as an ancient, Druid perhaps, corner of my soul awakens at the soft call of home.

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8:05 Dawn

For a moment
I forget to breathe
My body is stilled
beyond sight
Dreams whisper,
reality screams
darkness floods
the thin veil
suffocating
weight,
fighting,
voice stolen
breaking,
nothing
Illusion, delusion,
breathing.
Waking…

red numbers
tell me tonight
is lost, four more
hours till dawn
I count the
stars I cannot
find Selene.

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Likely set ablaze the page…

My thoughts would likely
set ablaze the page,
Perhaps best I let them fester
In silent implosions
dot to dot conclusions
and solid doubt
of realities illusions.
Delusions
My thoughts would likely
tear holes through
constellations
rip apart solar systems
Redesign the universe
and yet, would
surely quench this
burning thirst
A cure for perhaps
mothers tongue, a curse.
My thoughts
My thoughts
My thoughts would surely
set ablaze the page
Crimson flow,
nature’s rage
Not wrong not right
Blinded by terrors sight
upon my tongue then
I shall bite,
whilst quietly waiting
for the emptyness
of night.

The taste of you spilling..

I want to know the look
in your eyes when you
are drunk on passion…

… And the taste of your
Kisses when you are
drowning in lustrous sin.

…I want to know the feel
of your fingers clawing
through pools of desire…

… And the essence of your
soul as it spills within.

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Jack’s nimble fingers.

On silent whispers of Jack’s
nimble fingers she feels the frost
clawing at her innocence. Blind
eyes and deaf ears, the street
dancers set eyes on prey, and
move and swing, in ancient ways.
As Jack’s nails etch and sketch
permanent scars upon the souls
delicate skin, this veil, oh so thin.
Oh so thin, as darkness frosts
and etches…

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It might be… Pms

It might be,
pre menstrual cramp,
a drummer boy,
blade in hand
Perforating holes through
scars of ovaries.
Or it could be the tiredness
that 5am brings in the silence of
darkness,
it might be nothing,
everything,
or a little in between.
It is perhaps a rise
in hormones a dip in
pain levels and the swirling
tug of sore muscles.
It could be a lack of chocolate
A need for food, a rumbling
stomach…
Or storage heaters,
an insomniacs personal
hell, not enough
covers…
A lack of stars
A lack of snow
A lack of moon…
the essence of hera, fear
unknown or the
endless realm of thoughts…

Everything so silent
Everything so distant
Everything so dark
Everything so…

Oh how we love…

I love the snow,
gloves, scarf and wooly hat,
Extra socks and a jumper or two
Squeals of delight and a Snowball fight
Cold toes begin to hurt cold hands
radiate heat, tingling fingers,
Heat rises and I feel snug
warm and glowing…

She loves the snow,
Hates, coats, gloves, scarf
and wooly hats, no extra socks,
sandals please, no jumpers mum
she begins to scream. Squeals of delight, snow on bare skin, fingers wet
cold, glowing eyes and
smiling lips, her heart
skips a beat.

We love the snow,
but hate your stares
muttered disbelief to
pretend you care. Ask,
and we’ll happily talk,
don’t stare, whisper,
and slow your walk.

She loves the snow
but she hates heat, a second
passes and she is faint,
a second more and it’s
breakfast paint. Just pause
a moment close your lips,
watch, listen truly see
I’m not about to let her
freeze, look closer,
See me touch her
arm as I wander past
see the coat across my arm…

… But mostly,
See the smile across
her soul, hear the laughter
of a spirit free and happy,
Look closly at
those pools of blue…

The problem isn’t us,
the problem is you.

Candy floss soul…

… And as the pale sun burned fiercely through wandering thoughts she tucked away the delicacies of her soul, ran her fingers through blush pink silken threads, muted green satin bows, gently stroked rich purple velvet and pressed delicate feathers to her lips. She closed Pandoras chest, not turning the key. Her secret? Beyond titanium lays the intricate threads of a candy floss soul. Rays of sun upon deep breaths tickling her tongue, she knew, with trust must come vulnerability… And as the pale sun burned fiercely through wandering thoughts she left the chest open,
knowing it was time…

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a genetic mutation…

I sometimes wonder, am I wrong?

Am i wired faulty,

do I have a genetic mutation a

neuro-developmental glitch.

For no matter how hard I try,

I cannot see the world through

positioned eyes.

Words fail to slip from my tongue in

control of another,

I do not perceive a finishing line

that I must cross, or a spiritual path

that I must bless. I will not use my

gift to harm others…No matter what

weakness I know to be true, never will

I use them to hurt another like you.

My fault lays within, it’s the power to feel,

when pain has been felt,

it changes your view.

A mutation

a glitch

a malfunction of sorts,

to perceive beyond normal thoughts,

it’s a burden I carry into each day,

to know the reasons for what others say

is the reason I rise at the break of each day.

Image and words

Tail so bushy…

IMG_20150814_123327

Little grey squirrel with a tail so bushy,
I see you sitting upon the red brick wall,
Pausing for a moment, listening for mummy’s call.
I wonder do you smile, as you skip across the road,
I Ponder your existence, squirrel oh so bold.
I wonder do you know that I watch you from afar,
Wondering where you sleep when the skies become dark.
I saw you, just some days gone past
I don’t take your picture, learned you are too fast.
No, instead, I pause and watch your beauty
As you balance the fence, skip jump and run freely.
Little squirrel I Ponder your home among the concrete,
But although sporadic, we do have the trees.
Perception is an interesting sight,
From here to there is a human life
But between the cracks, from my princess’s window,
Is a glimpse to a world, so few even know.
Here the sun rises and rainbows do arch,
Trees can be seen by the eyes oh so far.
I see sunflowers and roses apples and pears,
A glorious land, that the squirrels do share.

Image and words