EXTINCTION EVENT

they say it was a comet
which dropped from outer space
and landed down in Mexico
on the last T-Rex’s face

but a prehistoric sugar rush
down the mountain side
is the proven reason
the dinosaurs all died

Day and Night

this night shall die
though not decay
she’ll resurrect
as the new day
and glow in golden
youthfulness
before she too
is laid to rest

Two Rivers

let Sappho guide us
we can flow like two rivers
and become the sea

The Muse Implores

behind each single word is found
more substance than a simple sound
for in these lines exists the me
I dream of in my poetry.

and should a scale be out of time
perhaps a forced syllabic rhyme
judge not harsh the way they go
it is the muse which made me so.

Fireworks

the sky has dissolved
into a thousand colours
none so bright as you

Trees

these pagan trees seek
a golden light in winter
to praise Apollo

The Unthought Thoughts

give me Cohen, give me Brel
forsaken heaven into hell
words that damn us to our dreams
poems of what might have been

turn the pages to the deathly
endpapers devoid of breath
wherein are writ no words of rhyme
just empty space to mark the time

these were two separate thoughts, written days apart, four line verses which sat in my drafts awaiting a possible place in probable poems, after revisiting them today I thought I’d pair them up and see if they hit it off.

Fair Rain

fall fair rain
upon my tears
ever staining
through the years
this face I see
in every glass
which once was me
before I passed
into the rain
the fair fall rain
where I was lost
in tears again.

In Whispers

In whispers find we revelations
perplexing those who fail to hear
between the quiet evocations
hide sighs which land on lov’ed ears.

And of those secrets left unspoken
in breaths which gently stroke the skin
are vows that will not yet be broken
by silent souls who dwell within.

Colour

she is the golden starlight
that breaks the earth
as narcissi in the early spring
the bleeding hearts
of whitsun roses
peonies red in summer’s dawn
she is the moist verdant caress
the clinging moss bright
on autumn beech bark
and the afternoon sunlight
silver shafts of beauty blinding
on frozen lakes
as the year gives way
to new tomorrows.

she is the palette
from which is painted
my passions.