The Last Seasons

consecrate this forest glade
that the black ashes of my heart
may rest forever in the shade
and of all seasons here impart
under winter’s frozen clothes
and the sparkled springtime thaw
to sleep through summer’s golden glows
and autumn’s fall for evermore.

Desperatio

a soul discarded
cast from its earth tethered flesh
to oblivion

The Poet Is Dead

the poet is dead,
and to Hades bound
yet death can be merciful
let him sup his fill
first from the Lethe
to forget all that he was
only then may he bathe
naked in Mnemosyne’s river
there to find his truth.

Safe Harbour

they climbed the lighthouse
and under a thousand suns
safe harbour was theirs

a sketch idea in the form of a haiku for a longer rhyming poem

Abyss (unfinished)

where did I lose the light
before this darkness cold
came and made it’s ashen home
inside an empty soul
unfrequented desolate
this black spirit falls
from my derelict insides
an endless abyss calls

September’s End

blackened sunflowers
burnt ghosts of their former selves
decay in the rain

Endings

in the dark endings
those small deaths between wakings
that we find the light

Prose

He tempered his poetry to his heart
words metered to his life’s blood
but as he thought upon her
all sense of the iambic
(or dactylic for that matter)
was lost in a pulse
no sense of breath could control
and all scansion disappeared
from his attempted verse

Noises Off

there are noises off
a creaking stair, a tap leaks
night’s drama unfolds

Dream Mirror

in a mirror’d dream
a butterfly reflected
and opened my eyes