Corvus

sculpted from shadows
that scatter into the light
a murder of crows

To A Robin

what great battles bloodied thee
spirit of the broken briar
do you from campaigns flit and flee
as sparks escape the dying fire
I fancy thee as kindred heart
alone among the mass and fold
a soul that solitude imparts
your counsel to yourself paroled.

The Fire

dwell not upon the funeral pyre
as its flames to heavens reach
though a heart’s consumed in fire
its soul will find release
so dark may be the cerement
and sorrow heavy weighs
in embers glow the sacraments
no mortal end decays

Reflection

what sins inhabit me
that I would turn away
from my face that pity sees
reflections it betrays
some quarter deep and low
a darkness unrelenting
only seen to daylight’s glow
a mirrored frame dissenting
beyond a conscience’d peace
to such profound unease
a curse upon my eyes,
this looking glass of lies.

Regrets

he could taste his dreams
heroin and caramel
and long held regrets

Dark

a moorland bird calls
melancholic arias
the sky has turned dark

Water Colour

my vellum moistened by the rain
and thus my painted willows run
serendipitous the stain
that in the downpour is begun
for now my landscaped silhouettes
from inclemency be-steeped
are filled now with dark day’s regret
as from the raindrops willows weep.

The Shore of Dawn

the half dark wakes me
tides of ebbing night retreat
I gaze on dawn’s shore

Sketch

she rises in me
as butterflies rise
and parts for me
as blossoms part
she cries for me
as the summer cries
and beats for me
as beats the hearts
of butterflies lost
intoxicated
’til they have crossed
from nectar sated.

Fingertips

between your covers
you allow my fingers range
until the last page