Time

time slips away
forgotten and ignored
not in chimes
or waking bells
but in seasons lost
and flowers felled
by the turning
of no clocks
save those we mould
from memory

Storm

a storm wrings the night
and after, all peace is left
scattered on the street

Essence

what essence lives in lieu of art
that beyond new horizons chart
is spilled as ink from this poor heart
no further craft dare it impart

Absolution

In your words
I find benediction
you speak to me
of absolution
not for sins
nor condemnation
but a simple sense
of affirmation

Songbird

a dark dusk descends
yet the nightingale cares not
it knows torch songs too

Towards The Windmill

he watched her skip
towards the windmill
and her dancing hair
told him
its sails were chained
and simply for display

Glance

what guarded riches,
gold or jewelled finery
compare to your glance

Hunter’s Moon

the moon is hunting
searching for her acolytes
she blesses the wolf

too many dreams

all too many dreams
lay dying in the gutters
of indifference

Older Poems #22 : Wolf Glade

it is told
that wolves
once lived in this glade
in days before,
when the world was young
and in its verdant blankets
was bedded game aplenty;

but for now they rest
waiting for the night
and primal dreams
of running.