Keepsake. A poem.
I hear you, I see you; your mirror face tells no lies but hides the truth, like a waxing moon hiding the sun from the subtle stars. I hear you, I see you, I hold you; you are wine within … Continue reading Keepsake. A poem.
Category: Love
Paper Hearts. A poem.
My heart was torn, tiny pieces shredded like origami shapes fluttering on the wind. Just like every paper person in my overcrowded mind, an overcrowded sea of paper people, with shredded paper hearts, like origami shapes fluttering on the wind. … Continue reading Paper Hearts. A poem.
Arrival. A poem.
I waited and waited and hoped and you arrived. Without acclaim, without excess, but not without baggage of your own. Seared with silent wounds in mirrored grace and Savoir-Faire. And all the waiting and the hope, all the self-hate and … Continue reading Arrival. A poem.
Meteor. A poem.
You are the meteor slicing my heavens to the quick, scorching my atmosphere without regret. And when you hit my ground cleaving my earthy heart and spreading its detritus far and wide, I’ll willingly accept your carnage with arms as … Continue reading Meteor. A poem.
Haiku Friday. A lone haiku.
Embalmed. A Haiku. I’m embalmed by life. I will lie in state for you to consume your fill. Haiku is a Japanese poetic form with a strict 5/7/5 syllable structure. Okay, okay, I know you know that already! Cheers Steve … Continue reading Haiku Friday. A lone haiku.
Haiku Friday. ‘Journey’. A haiku.
Journey. A Haiku. Our journey begins: gentle solicitous touch. Now, scream together. Haiku is a Japanese poetic form with a strict 5/7/5 syllable structure. What, you knew? Fair enough. Cheers Steve 🙂 The All or the Nothing is my first … Continue reading Haiku Friday. ‘Journey’. A haiku.
Horizon. A poem.
In the setting sun, a hazy miasma of watercolours spilled, an adventitious mix of variegated textures and tones. With every highlight and every shifting coruscation, I think of you. This miracle horizon cannot compare. The All or the Nothing is … Continue reading Horizon. A poem.
Believe in Love. A poem.
Believe in love. Believe so ardently that your heart burns from the pain of longing, loss and subtle expectation, a flame that reduces you to dying embers at the thought of that special other. This aching lamentation is for the … Continue reading Believe in Love. A poem.
Hand. A poem.
Hand in mine, you lead me far from dark entwined. For certain death does this … Continue reading Hand. A poem.
Juncture. A poem.
At this juncture, decisions made: A change of season, a chance parade. At this juncture of no return, no looking back at bridges burned. At this juncture, we’re laid to rest in hallowed ground, without contest. At this juncture, the … Continue reading Juncture. A poem.
Tangent. A poem.
I’m off on a tangent, tangentially related to this relationship that doesn’t exist but continually insists betwixt was and is and not that it could and should and would be something worth waiting for, despite the frustration and inevitable fall, … Continue reading Tangent. A poem.
The Not-So-Burning Bush. A short tale.
I haven’t written a flash fiction for a while. Here’s my poor attempt at romantic fiction. Cheers Steve 😊 I was ensconced in the bush, its leaves and branches irritating and scratching my face. Completely hidden, I craned my neck … Continue reading The Not-So-Burning Bush. A short tale.
REckLEss. A poem.
HEre I am REckLEss when you’re ARound. Should I STay Should I GO Should I CHance the EBb and FLow A MOment’s INdecision And I’m CAught up in YOur SHow ONce again I’m REckLEss BUt I’ve noWHere else to GO … Continue reading REckLEss. A poem.
Half-light. A poem.
Sweat and toil and creaking springs, grasping fingers and the scent of hallowed limbs. Perfect and imperfect rhythms in motion, bestial howls and fire and tender susurration, collated in the half-light of a muted TV. From this vantage point we survey the hedonic … Continue reading Half-light. A poem.
Unknown. A poem.
She does not and will never know me. She will never read between my lines. She will never walk the halls of my history. She will never cry a tear for me. But I have known her. In the briefest … Continue reading Unknown. A poem.
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