If I Were

If I were a magpie
such sorrow could I sing
a solitary magpie
simple sadness on the wing
apart from all the other birds
their joyous gatherings
my life, the melancholic
this loneliness can bring

Fatale

she is noir
disguising her light
with shadows deep
and dark midnights
which tell no secrets
nor hold lies
just ambiguity
in the glow
of a cigarette.

The End

The last bookshop burned
its ashes covered a world
where nobody wept.

5-7-5 (take five-hundred-and-eleven : touch)

her flesh is sculpted
in lines of tactile patterns
yearning for my touch

Larghetto

stoic strings of tears
run their tracks
to my life’s blood
reflecting waves
of sadness displayed
which words alone
dare not expose.

Post Modern Nursery Rhyme

are these carrots vegan
I heard the old man say
they are, but not so cruelty free
we sliced them up today
in that case I’ll have chick peas
they’ve much more of a bite
and unlike the cowardly carrots
they put up quite a fight.

Hummingbirds

my passion’d thoughts
are hummingbirds
thirsty at your open petals
their racing hearts
and flashing wings
indicative
of their earnest desires

5-7-5 (take five-hundred-and-ten : dusk)

I greet the twilight
which speaks of awakenings
on the cusp of dreams

Curry

your skin is spice
paprika heat
flavoured by fingers
glowing with
the flush of cumin
tasting the anticipation
of my caress

The Churchyard in April

lavender bleeds its perfume
a violent violet snow
upon the broken mourning stones
cracked weathered below
where tears once succoured the roots
before these blooms decried
the grief still planted there below
when love itself had died