Fire

Some say the burn is necessary
but I beg to differ.

Those rising feelings
when someone is on your mind.
Do they really mean to be there
or are they an excess of Dickens’s cheese?

Will you wake to find the burn
has melted your toasted thoughts
to reveal nothing but a corruption
of moldy imagination?

Of course there is that smile
and those eyes
that fabric touch
and the dancing soft-footed perfume
which as a whole burns holes
but really, do we need it?

That fire
consumes
resistance,
and yet …

My eyes

My eyes, aware of such
aware of light
aware of all things to delight

my eyes see things
I cannot see
their tiredness seeks a reason

Winter’s killing grip takes hold
to cleanse the air of much
It brings about a strange old feeling
… your eyes, aware of such

My eyes weep not
at the sight of love
for that sweet thing is lost

my eyes, aware of such
aware of time
aware of sunset’s rusty rime

Pool on the sill

I hear it’s November
but the rains sound the same

The birds, I hear
and see as they drink from puddles

I hear my radiators
clicking, groaning
so it must be a chilly November
but it all feels the same

I see it’s grey out there
and suddenly the birds are silent
as I watch dribbling condensation
pool on the sill

I swim in that pool
and feel a tremendous hankering
to evaporate.

Love’s nightingales

Shadows do not diminish
when the sun’s bloom wilts
they merely fade into themselves
; chameleons of this butterfly world

White it shines
as it flits
landing almost
a kiss
almost an enchantment
upon solitude
upon memory

Songs, dreams and soft thoughts
these butterflies do not diminish
they are love’s nightingales
; a kind of paradise

Moonbeams
shine through
silent awakenings
to land, perhaps
upon a kiss
upon a
spark of magic
to whisper
… to paint

How is it you do not diminish
is it because your butterfly heart
echoes this fragile beat of mine
; glass, stained

That, feeling

right in the pit
curling
a feather with boots and wings

that, feeling
of desire
of a need to compress

tremulous it starts
spreading
wings of springs and glorious things

that, feeling
of apprehension
of a call to unwind

such warmth
rising
calling and falling

that, feeling
of inhibition
of a flavour to inhale

and so release
into the wild
of the evening sky