Dreaming

My muse has obviously been alerted to her absence. I wrote this late last night, and was going to publish then, but didn’t want to inundate everyone. I hope you like this one. Thank you for reading.

Take my hand and close your eyes,
Let dreaming give us wings,
We’ll float above the rushing crowd
Where the swallow sings,
And ‘neath our flying shadows cast
We’ll see what night time brings.

Up among the royal clouds
No cold will touch our skin,
For minds when joined in dreaming flight
Will oft’ be warmed by sin,
And with our hands so soft entwined
Our coupled night begins.

Our bodies though they rest in sleep
Have freed our minds to fly,
And as a pair we soar as one
Amongst the star lit sky,
Who knew such pleasure could be found
With just a closing eye.

We share our wand’ring minds tonight
And fly behind the moon,
No body old will hold us still
Our spirit free to bloom,
We’re charged to grasp this chance to fly
As dawn will come so soon.

Let’s hold the memory of our night
When all the world to see,
The sky our playground full of stars
That lit our joy and glee,
And maybe soon we’ll join again
To soar and so be free.

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Put Away

Well, wherever my muse has been, she’s decided to pay me a fleeting visit this evening, and this is the result. I hope you like it.

I’ll pack away these tears of mine
In box of silk-lined oak,
And when I think of love we had
They’ll speak of heart that broke.

I’ll hide away these dreams of mine
In chest of aged wood,
For only dreams kept safe for me
Will stand where passion stood.

I’ll put away these words of mine
In pages writ with blood,
They could not sway your iron mind
Nor stem the rising flood.

I’ll lock away my secret want
With chain of silver sheen,
And in my darkened thoughts of you
Perchance they’ll set to gleam.

I’ll turn away, dear, from your light
From all I want and need,
Forever now to be bereft
My heart to fade and bleed.

Reblog: The Artist And His Lovers Doom

I’ve been watching The Portrait Artist Of The Year this evening, and it’s made me even more frustrated that I cannot paint. But, in honour, I thought I’d reblog this piece. Hope you like it.

The artist locked in sunlit room
paints picture of his lovers doom,
enthralled to inspirations muse
it matters not what paint to use.
For image grown on canvas pure
will show the truth of which he’s sure,
continuing ill fated tryst
is more than his poor soul could risk.
But cowards blood pumps through his veins
no strength to pick through loves remains,
so using his creative art
he paints the state of foolish heart.
Will world be shown his finished piece
so granting love’s unchained release,
or will it lie in sunlit room
this picture of his lovers doom.

Colours

I’m very conscious that I’ve not posted anything for a while. It frustrates the hell out of me because I LIKE writing and getting my words out there. And so, I sat and thought for a while this evening and this came to me. I’m not entirely happy with it, especially the last stanza(?) but it’s something new. I hope don’t hate it.

We dive entwined in colour blue
Yet hearts are fired red;
Such eyes who see us green they are
As in our black we wed.
The gold of something treasured kept
The silver of a kiss;
A ruby taste of lips apart
With shades of crimson bliss.
The lilac cast of evenings glow
Combined with orange heat;
Paints warming pink upon our skin
Throws yellow at our feet.
A purple night to dance within
‘neath monochrome of stars;
Each movement touched with mercury
White light seen from afar.
These colours all that stain my life
Are brightened by you, dear;
My world would be in monochrome
Without your presence near.

Tears And The Moon

Faithful readers…
It’s been a while since I’ve been able to publish anything original. Blame work, mood, and my ever fickle muse. However, this little piece has been brutally dragged into the light for your delectation, so please let me know what you think. Thank you.

Blur-ed moon why mock me so;
My eyes thus filled with tears
As pools, turn light from thee
To watered vision,
Marring treasured glow.

Doubled moon thy face is twinned;
My sight so changed with crying
Spill, cannot so see
Thy silver gleam,
And white and wicked grin.

Swimming moon in nights dark lake;
’tis you I see through eyes
That weep, and there you hang
As witness to
This heart of mine that breaks.

Gentle moon thy presence most;
To comfort me in deep
Dark angst, and show to me thy
Beauty cold
That will for all be close.

Sweet Folly Street (The Court Of Bal-Samaroth)

Faithful readers,
This one, I think, will need some explaining. There are two phrases that came to me that formed this poem. The first, “Sweet Folly Street”. I had an idea for a poem about a dark and evil place, and for some reason, this is the street name that kept wanting to make itself heard. The second phrase, “Bal-Samaroth”, comes from the idea that I wanted to invent some mythical evil creature, something that someone like Stephen King may think up. And this is the name that formed. I hope you like this one. I really enjoyed the images I got when I wrote this. Thank you, as always, for reading.

Simon.

The troubles are endless
On Sweet Folly Street
Where Bal-Samaroth keeps court.
The people who live here
Are sick with their sin
They’ll tease and torment for their sport.

The pushchairs are empty
Except for old dolls
Whose eyes stare out of old heads.
The children are flown now
From Sweet Folly Street
But dreams still haunt them to bed.

The alleys are dirty
Down Sweet Folly Street
Where Bal-Samaroth holds sway.
No music is danced to
No laughter is heard
Colours are faded to grey.

The windows are boarded
The doors daubed with blood
The sickness that of the mind.
Be wary of roaming
On Sweet Folly Street
Who knows what evil to find.

The atmosphere frightens
On Sweet Folly Street
Where Bal-Samaroth is rule.
No couples go strolling
Or share a sweet kiss
Love turns to something most cruel.

The lights are all darkened
The air old and used
No joy to be seen at all.
Don’t wander with interest
Down Sweet Folly Street
For steps on this street will fall.

Such evil is witnessed
On Sweet Folly Street
Where Bal-Samaroth runs free.
Don’t risk your damnation
Keep ever so clear
Turn swift on your heals and flee.

Paths other than this one
Should always be tread
Be clear of message so said.
For once you start moving
Down Sweet Folly Street
You’ll see the homes of the dead.

Five Crows : A Reading

Well I certainly seemed to have struck a nerve with Anthony Gomez. He has recorded another of my newest poems, “Five Crows”. I will repeat, although not fade it’s integrity through repetition, that I am so very honoured that someone who has never met me, who only reads my words on his screen, feels the urge to want to record the recitation of my work. I know I am a lucky man indeed to have so many wonderful readers. I hope you like this reading.

Five Crows – read by Anthony Gomez