Tag Archives: sorrow

Y Ddraig

Worm's Head

I’ve looked at it from many angles,
this two-headed serpent that the Vikings
named ‘dragon’.
 

A thirty year gaze from my own quiet shores
and then briefly, lovingly,
from yours.
 

I turn it often in my hands;
some days a smooth, silver sadness,
others a jagged saw
 

that drags at my skin
as a sharp wind claws
at Dylan’s ‘slipping stones’.
 

I watch it now

from the safety of the West,
the sun sinking behind me,
 

and as the tide begins to fall
I realise that I have never seen it
from the sea.

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Filed under Free Verse, Poetry

It’s the not knowing

universe

‘Love is so short, forgetting is so long’

Pablo Neruda

 

It’s the not knowing that drags;
an emotional gravity
that skewers us to the earth,
holding our feet in concrete
and our hearts in a dewdrop web
of half truths.
 

It’s the not knowing that clouds,
that ruins the night sky,
obscuring fractal glitter
with the dust of uncertainty
until we find ourselves unable
to see beyond our own atmosphere.
 

It’s the not knowing that bites,
sinking its teeth when the sun dips
below the watery horizon
and the beach fire crackles its last,
darkness slipping us deep
beneath its counterpane of sorrow.
 

It’s the not knowing that slices,
that cuts through us
with the gilded blade of illusion,
leaving us baffled and bereft,
forever craving
a simple promised truth.

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Gardening with Ghosts

raking_leaves
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
 

Autumn slips
through crumbling trees,
clinging to lichened limbs.
 

I watch you
from the kitchen window,
quietly raking leaves;
 

your pain
a red brick tick
in blazing bonfire eyes.
 
 

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Filed under Free Verse, Poetry

Composition


 
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
 

Point and click if you must,
apertured, cross-process capture,
naïve, fractured pixel weave.
 

Filter out chalybeous hue,
swift remove creeping gentian,
sift periwinkle powder blues.
 

Let alizarin bleed through shades
of melancholic monsoon madder,
choleric carmine, sliced away.
 

Leave only mellow ash blonde blush
lemon chiffon, naples yellow,
soft papaya, stil de grain.
 

Sundrench me in saffron timbre,
lutescent vignette, haloed amber,
incandescent freeze-framed hush.
 
 

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Filed under Free Verse, Poetry, Tercets

nine lines of loveliness after a week of rain


 
 
 
 
 
 
 
 

Paddling swiftly now beyond
deluged days and swollen nights,
 

ebony umbrellas languish
in hushed oaken hallways,
yesterday’s dolor
puddling monochrome.
 

In the prism-drenched
meadows of tomorrow
parasols and petticoats twirl.
 
 

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Melanchrome


 
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
 

Tombstone early morning tide;
splintered shell pierces pallid skin,
sculls along labyrinthine veins –
oxygen-starved lanes.

Blood-soaked sound,
underwater aural pound,
spikey versed consumptive curse
lodged in lungs and liver-skinned skeins.

Insomnia-driven; dank,
rasp-ridden, sleep-deprived weep.
Saturation deep-strips hue.

Ululation over; nude lips hunker
beneath orbs scraped of colour –
 
 

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Drowning Kittens

After days of clawing
the same wet wound,
we emerge;
 

encased in the fetor
of a hessian tomb,
pus-drenched and sodden,
 

to pass wraith-like
in cat-tailed corridors,
shrinking from contact,
 

slinking into tired,
tissue-thin walls
until the mewling ceases.
 
 

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Filed under Free Verse, Poetry

Dog Days


 
 
 
 
 

Lain beneath the filigreed dust
of a spattered mackerel sky,the
snaggle-toothed, black matted mongrel,
 

wet tongue lolling over spracked
slack lips, its sickly damp dog smell,
blood-bloated fetid breath,
 

embraces easy slumber, rattlesnake
snores and lumbers light,
beneath the adipose surface,
 

its conscience unencumbered.
On Canicular days I would poke
with a stick or slick-sharped blade,
 

bid him wake to rake my face
with rancorous claws but not today.
The dog days are long past, now
 

rapture fasts while winter feasts.
Let the lying canine sleep,
I choose to bury the baying beast.
 
 

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Petticoat


 

She slipped beneath me, lost it seemed, for days,
a torn and ragged wisp I failed to grasp,
that withered in the mottled mirror-gaze.
 

Caliginous dysfunctional malaise,
shushed-silent but for dusk’s death-rattle rasp,
she slipped beneath me, lost it seemed, for days.
 

Bewildered child within the laddered maze,
seduced by sorrow’s vile puissant asp
that slithered in the mottled mirror-gaze.
 

Entombed within the muddy-mettled greys,
enveloped by seclusion’s gutt’ral gasp,
she slipped beneath me, lost it seemed, for days.
 

‘Neath fractal glitter, hope returned rephrased,
deft-delicately held with hook and hasp,
soft-swithered in the mottled mirror-gaze,
 

her party dress – resplendent polonaise
and in her hand the proffered, beaded clasp.
Wraith-like beneath her, lost it seemed, for days;
I found myself within her mirrored gaze.
 
 
 

~ a polonaise is a woman’s dress with a tight bodice and an overskirt drawn back to reveal a colorful underskirt or petticoat

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Filed under Poetry, Villanelle

Hiraeth

As loneliness slips in beside,
and fills the space where warmth once lay,
in creeps hiraeth in shades of grey;


cuts deep the sheets with sharpened scythe.
Future borrowed from tomorrow
to gladly pay the levied tithe


and have the past rewind/replay
as loneliness slips in beside.

 

 

 


~ Hiraeth is a Welsh word. Like many strong passionate words in the language there is no single English word that adequately translates the meaning of the word but it means a deep sense of longing, a yearning for that which has past, a sense of homesickness tinged with grief or sorrow over the lost or departed.

 

The piece is written in Octain form, an explanation of which can be found at this link.

 

https://rockp88l.wordpress.com/2010/12/15/454/

 


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