Sunday, October 25, 2009

in the divide

on the edge of a cusp between dark and light,
prevailing allure, this singular might,
breathe in the silence of oceans refrain,
whispering words, a hypnotic quatrain.

as the sun and the moon ride the earth astride,
perfectly balanced in the divide,
the centre that’s constant and defrays
plunging darkness and scorching rays.

Monday, October 19, 2009

a tattered soul

sinking, sinking, into a sludge
thick and murky, cruel to the touch
a struggle that’s left these limbs limp and weak
from the prevailing winds oblique
knocking and gnawing away at the walls
breaking into protected halls
filling the air with noxious gas
as i plunge into deep crevasse
where a darkened silence pervades
vision gets blurry then steadily fades
into a permanent state so jaded
a tattered soul exposed and naked

Friday, October 16, 2009

55 - hunting of desires

wild is the moody sky as temperamental winds fly into the great unknown looking for old sins. in the eyes a glint that says “do not mess with me. i am out to catch the tail of pleasures desperately” ...a hunger you can fill alone through the fearless hunting of desires to which you’re prone.

every friday, compose a short story of 55 words - no more, no less. if you want to join in the fun and games and give it a your story and report to the boss G-Man

Wednesday, October 14, 2009

serenade of sorrow

i bow my head to the final note
as it drifts into darkening dusk,
while lingering in the air the scent
of your lips, sweet rose damask.
and the lines you traced on my body bare
when we danced on that moonlit hill,
tremble as the wistful breeze
envelops my presence still…

awash is the essence of defeat
in the passing of our time,
that sings a farewell to your absent soul
in the distance the bells start to chime.

Sunday, October 11, 2009

the rolling waves of sorrow

each raindrop from heaven
that falls reflects
the tears i feel in my heart
on bended knees
i beg a reprieve
from the onslaught they impart

and the winds that rage
and howl through the trees
bring sorrow in rolling waves
while sharpened edges
of the sword
the grief in my soul engraves

Wednesday, October 7, 2009

just an escape...

you’ll find her in a rambling old house, not too big, not too small, built of sandstone in nineteen hundred and four. it’s a house with scented floors that gently creak their welcome and keep you company as you pass through the rooms. here the walls are thick and solid to the touch, in shades of red wine and the green of the trees through the windows, these are wall that protect and that guard the secrets of the whispered words shared in their space. and as you wander through this warm, gentle home, your eyes will catch glints of crystal and silver amongst candles on scattered silk sheets of gold.

when the sun bows its head and the rays of the moon douse the earth, the scent of sweet jasmine tags along the night breeze through windows with gently billowing curtains. some nights all you’ll hear is the crackling of a fire to the turning of the pages of a book. she’ll be curled up in a huge wingback chair alongside the fireplace, whilst the soft snores of puppy dreams float in the air. and on other nights you will hear the strings of guitars telling of nights in paris or a love that’s been lost. these will mingle with cheerful chatter and the tingling of ice in glasses, almost the same pitch as the laughter that rings through the night. you may also be enticed by the scent of a meal, a simple feast, that inflames the senses to savour, to take your time and enjoy. and when the last stings of the guitar fade silently into the night, she will walk through the house and with a tender touch, arrange and close and blow out and store, as she puts her house to sleep…

in the morning she’ll rise to the rays from the east, freeing the pups into a forest of fragrant pines, into air so fresh, so pure and untouched, almost tangible as she deeply breathes it in. she will stretch her limbs awake through grassy and ferny trails to the songs of birds in treetops high. she may spot a deer at the gently bubbling brook that snakes its way though the gentle curves of the mountainside, or she may be the only one there.

her days have an unrushed list of to-do’s, she will follow the nudges of need. she’ll hum as the broom clears the dust off floorboards and she’ll talk to her furry friends while she drinks a cup of tea. she’ll feel the breath of fresh air through the open window at the sink, while the suds wash away the dirt. and in welcoming sunshine dappled through the trees, she’ll shape the garden that naturally grows, the blooms the ones nature placed in her care.

a scattering of faces may arrive unannounced, and be welcomed with barks and swishing tails, to depart further into their day after coffee or iced tea, sharing a thought, an opinion or two. she may call her pups and head down the road, not far, to the settlement down below. there she will fill her basket with fresh fruit, with cheeses, a bread or two. she will greet the shopkeepers by name, exchange a smile and a few words, pretending not to see the treats that are sneaked to the grinning faces with chocolate brown eyes.

it’s a place of few demands, filled with simplistic honesty and a solitude she desperately craves. here the need to speak disappears, and where thoughts and feelings reign. it's a place to build, re-charge and create, a temporary refuge, as it fuels the drive for words she writes late into the night. it’s a part of the world, not her own, yet it feels like home. the words that are spoken convey their meaning, though they may not sound familiar. it may not exist by the name that she calls it, but it surely is alive somewhere…

Tuesday, October 6, 2009

adrift in cold seas

how can random acts of kindness
bring me down onto my knees
bring forth flowing tears of sadness
‘tis not something i should feel
do i not deserve some shelter
helping hands or a kind word
why the thinking i’m not worthy
of these gentle words i heard…

maybe it’s the shroud of grey
the chill wind that tugs my hair
or the knowing in my heart
that we now no longer share
the sunrise that’s in the east
since we face opposing sides
have we passed the line that says
turn back now lest you divide

in these silent times i wonder
if you see the same reflection
that the rings in this here water
roll in conflicting direction
what’s the string that at this time
keeps us tethered here and bound
in the waves that keep it taut
‘stead of turning us around?

how i long for us together
in the same frame of the mind
with an openness between us
with our thoughts and limbs entwined
can we once again be free
of the darkness hanging over
are we meant to find the shores
and each other love and savour...

Friday, October 2, 2009

55 - dance

dance the song of sorrow
when your spirit weeps,
feel the lilt of sadness
as through you it seeps.
dance until you feel
the air beneath your feet,
‘til the walls withdraw
and the tears retreat.
escape into the senses
of an enchanting trance,
forget the tears of sorrow,
just dance and dance and dance…

every friday, compose a short story of 55 words - no more, no less. if you want to join in the fun and games and give it a your story and report to the boss G-Man!