Archive for the ‘verse’ category

listening. soon.

November 26, 2008

He listened as he walked.
Hands shoved into his pockets.
Scarf wrapped tight.
Sepia lights cast
spiderweb shadows of
bare and skeletal
trees.
The whispers in the dark echoed.
Words unspoken.
Unwritten.
For now.

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mine (edited)

January 24, 2008

it is my heart.
and it will bash against the rocks.
it will be beaten
by the torrent,
by the tumult,
by the maelstrom.
it will hurt
it will bruise
it will rend
until it tears.

but it will not break
it will not surrender
it will not lose hope

it will feel all the pain
every moment of it
battered
bruised

but it will heal
it will feel elation
it will feel love again

it is my heart
and i will not lose it.

collioure ii

January 22, 2008

The rock is layered.
The rock is jagged.
It breaks through the soil.
It cuts down to the sea.
The turquoise sea
That takes the light
From the sun
And makes it
different.

The vines cling
Perilously
To the rock.
Their roots dig deep
Searching
Splitting
Shattering
Rock and soil,
Looking for water.

The homes cling
Perilously
To the Rock.
They become villages.
Right down to the sea.

The stone sits,
Set on rock.
Perpendicular.
Layers upon layers.
Ochre, purple,
Obsidian
Pale.

collioure i

January 13, 2008

Morning and evening are coloured with pastels.
The sea, the clouds, the hills and mountains.
And the sun.
Sometimes faded, sometimes intense.
But always pastel.
Always vibrant.
Never wanting.

noise

August 20, 2007

He hears.
His breath.
His heart.
His blood, pounding his temples.
He hears.

He does not see.
His eyes are shut.

Behind them.
Behind his breath.
Behind his heart.
Behind his blood, pounding his temples.
Behind them she speaks.

And he does not want to hear.

almost verse or a part of a beginning

June 5, 2007

The smell of pine and summer dust
The sound of hooves
The bird’s call
The birds answer
The trumpet sounds
He runs

unmetered. not quite poetry?

April 18, 2007

Sat near Picardy
Loose ends frayed
There are sirens
A hint of the winter
just passed
Past?
Both.
——–
She’s two benches down
I smell her food
Grilled veg
She’s just a girl
sitting outside to eat
a late lunch or early
dinner
But she has food, and
I am hungry
I can smell her food over the diesel fumes wafting over from the roundabout,
over the scent of the city around me.
The wind changes.
It’s the smell of the city again.
But I’m still hungry.