The universe can feel you breathing

The universe can feel you breathing
can feel the moisture of your thoughts
as you sit in fear and contemplation
of that outside, that battle fought

The universe can feel you breathing
can feel your moments of regret
as you stand alone by your window
watching reflections of eyes so wet

The universe can feel you breathing
can feel your heart beat ancient blood
as you sit in time and anticipation
of that outside, that wretched hood

The universe can feel you breathing
can feel the softness of your soul
as you stand alone in solitude’s air
watching waiting for someone to hold

The universe can feel your pain
can feel your sadness deep and true
and as you stand without foundation
breathe and feel the universe in you

An echo breathing

Magic arrives when it’s needed.

This message is ready for the few
for those souls
bereft of the beauty
we sometimes take for granted.

The beauty, of course, is not physical
but those things we feel
and emit
without and within

it is that echo
breathing, touching, vibrating
it is that echo.

Sometimes a sadness overshadows
a loneliness begins
a feeling of loss is found
and all we want is to escape
into ourselves
to close the curtains of our minds
and escape into the sorrows
of emptiness
where there is no light
no fire

but, where there is emptiness
there is of course, an echo.

It breathes with you and for you
for you are
that breathing echo
you are open to receive
those long searched for
alchemies of love.

Magic arrives when it’s needed
as love
because love
is already within us
within you now

breathing its echo.

Inhale, smile
and believe
in your beauty.

Broken Roses – Video

Here I am reading from my latest poetry collection, Broken Roses. It’s a more darker collection than After the Rain or my other writings. It deals with death, solitude, loneliness, suicide, darkness, aphantasia, insomnia, love and memories.

Thanks for watching.

Two’s Company, One’s a Cloud

Timeless heron in silent flight
canal watching
Is it hungry
or lonely?

White horse stoical beneath a pink blanket
ambiguous expression considers
a paddock of squelch and slop.
Does it not like pink
is it the rain
or the loneliness?

Five trees crenellate the track
fourth one dead, stark
grey against a monochrome sky.
Was it born before colour photography
did it look up at the sky and wish for blue
did it smile when the snowdrops fed upon its rot
or did it look at the lush four and feel lonesome?

Solitary magpie
flies along the plume of a
(Green steam from an unseen train)
windswept copse as it
caterpillars the horizon
lands on a bough of steam
and steals the mirage.

What of the magpie?
One for sorrow
or back to its glamour
and two for joy?