Dreams Of You

Full disclosure – I’ve never read the original Lewis Carroll books, Alice’s Adventures In Wonderland, and Alice Through The Looking Glass. I recently bought them to rectify that situation. First of all, I was unaware of Lewis Carroll’s history and life – some of it quite eye-opening. Secondly, there is a style of poetry in there I really like – and yes, you can see that influence in this one. (The opening lines are inspired from a black & white photo I saw of the Paris floods in 1910). Still, I do hope you all like it.

A river black with books about
Words scattered far and near,
Flung about as autumn leaves
By wind so harsh and sheer,
What pain to see such pages lost
As dreams of you my dear.

A snowy plain so bright and cold
Made white from clouds above,
Deep in drifts of frozen rain
As pure as feathered doves,
Will still be sure to melt and fade
As dreams of you my love.

A forest old and full of trees
So ancient standing tall,
The canopy a sky of green
As natures treasured hall,
Before too long must fall and die
As dreams of you my all.

A universe of stars aglow
As heavens painted art,
Such timelessness in purple space
With planets far apart,
Will still one day be formed in dust
As dreams of you my heart.

A fire once did burn and rage
With passion hot and clear,
And in it’s warmth my soul did glow
With nought that felt as fear,
But ashes now are all about
As dreams of you my dear.

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For The Want Of A Day

I’ve gone back to a more romantic flavour for this one. Hope you like it.
A day, a day;
What worlds are lost for want
Of a day.
What words left unsaid,
Hearts never broached,
All for the want of a day.

An hour, an hour;
What chances missed for the want
Of an hour.
What secrets untold,
Hands never held,
All for the want of an hour.

A minute, a minute;
What glances not seen for the want
Of a minute.
Such eyes never seen,
Gaze not lost in,
All for the want of a minute.

A second, a second;
What heartbeat not felt for the want
Of a second.
A blooming not caught,
Loves start so missed,
All for the want of a second.

A moment, a moment;
Grant sweetly to me the eternity
Of a moment.
A life time at once,
Held in a breath,
All in the eternity of a moment.

Basement Bars

In basement bars where old
Men sit
And contemplate the past;
The smoke from vanished
Cigarettes
And long lost fat cigars.

To wait awhile with fluid
Dark
And drink to those removed;
The passing time ticks slow
To fast
Warm spirits start to soothe.

Voices meld and form
The sound
Of oceans black and deep;
While in my bubble
Patiently
I wait for booze bought sleep.

These darkened dens of
Alcohol
That call from far away;
Will always be the place
I come
To waste away the day.

So join with me at bar
Of wood
Where drinks are bought and sold;
And here we’ll sit and with
Our words
We’ll fix this darkened world.

Reblog : Books In The Stack

I’m afraid it’s another reblog today. I’m really quite tired, and am struggling with inspiration recently, so rather than leave my blog unused and unloved, I thought I’d reblog an old piece of work. This was originally inspired by FortyoneTeen and reading it back, I’m a bit annoyed I didn’t add more verses… maybe I’ll do that soon, but for now I hope you enjoy “Books In The Stack”.

Trawling the stacks
for gem like glint;
what beauty is found
amongst dust and lint.

Jacketed books of
prose never read;
pages in slumber but
not ever dead.

Authors of stories
whose names are now lost;
worlds never visited
seas never crossed.

These books are to history
as hands on a clock;
marking the time
of these places forgot.

Abides

You need to know…

When suns rays have fallen short
and no longer light this
land;

my love for you abides.

When moon has dulled to grey
and seen no more in darkened
night;

my love for you abides.

When mountains in their majesty
are naught but crumbled
dust;

my love for you abides.

When last leaf has fallen
in a dark and desolate
world;

my love for you abides.

My love for you abides.

Books In The Stack

Another thanks to FortyoneTeen for the inspiration to this. She told me what ‘stacks’ were in a library in sunny Australia, and this flowed from that. Hope you like it.

Trawling the stacks
for gem like glint;
what beauty is found
amongst dust and lint.

Jacketed books of
prose never read;
pages in slumber but
not ever dead.

Authors of stories
whose names are now lost;
worlds never visited
seas never crossed.

These books are to history
as hands on a clock;
marking the time
of these places forgot.

This Face

Weathered, old
and grizzled too
this face that stands
and looks at you.
What attraction
to be found
when greying stubble
and lines abound.
Eyes that burned
like jade afire
now are faded
stripped of desire.
Lips once warm
and yearning kiss
now dry as bone,
cracked and split.
Age has taken
wicked toll
once young and sweet
now weathered, old.