Poetry 04/01/2014

Well today has been dull and overcast all day with just a hint of cold. Under the pain of my back my mood as been a little darker than usual and this may reflect in today's poems. I normally love days like this enjoying the silence that these days bring and how everything seems quite muted under the strain of the day and the distinct lack of sunshine. the first poem is about the silence of these days, the second poem is a fantasy piece about the army of night ready to wash over the final setting of the sun and the last poem portrays my love of the night. Hope in some small you derive a little enjoyment from the poems and any comments would be very welcome.
May tonight's dreams become the realities of the morn and carry you on a journey of your heart's desire.

MUTED

Across brooding angry skies the sun shies from view,

lost behind battleship clouds ready for war.

Dampness holds ground in boggy disposition

adding ugly blackened scars across an already pained landscape.

Muted sound fights through air thickened with menace,

striving to be heard from inside pre storm deafness.

No simple bird calls or children at play

disturb the murky silence of night within day amid the birth of January.

Grey wraiths blanket a battered sky,

under weary sighs we look to tomorrow.

SHADOW GUARDIAN

The shadow guardian waited.

Sunset burned low, rich in the colours he hated so much.

His time was coming, his excitement a tangible realisation.

Black silken armies waited above the sun’s final defiance;

he was ready for the darkest of nights,

fear his sword, the unknown his armour.

Long ships with darkened sails unfolded edge forward.

The final burnt copper of the suns blood ebbs into his glass.

He knows something is wrong, his mind screams the warning,

on the breeze her lullaby whispers its beauty.

His army lies frozen; he has no answers, accepting his time has gone,

the lullaby cuts deep, the beauty surpassing his duty.

His army of night falls in silent rapture,

her song of sunset their undoing.

Hello darkness my old friend – I've missed you

Summer people love summer,

longing to feel the nurturing sun caressing their bodies in sensual heat.

Temperatures soaring, I wear an upside down smile,

lethargy seeps into my soul from behind mirrored vision.

Months flitter by held in eternal light,

summer seeks its zenith,

under a final flash of colour death seeks an audience.

I miss the bleakness of your vista,

the long darkened nights of your season,

the crispness of the air just catching my throat

as I drink from the well of plummeting temperatures.

I hear your song of winter amid the mournful cries of solitude

carried on skeletal branches reaching for the heavens,

a chorus of melodies carrying me onward into the shadowlands.

Hand in hand we travel the night,

I look upon your blackened tapestry

and I wear a smile at your return,

“Hello darkness my old friend, I've missed you.”

Poetry 03/01/2014

Well today has been very much like yesterday blustery and sunny so the view from my window was pretty much the same, neighbours out with dogs cars up and down the close. So under the pain of a bad back I have spent my day losing at poker on Facebook with a dear friend and feeling like a still life model for an artist such is the limit of my movement at present. The following poems in part reflect the outcome of the day and are little bit away from my usual nature works but fun none the less for it. Hope anyone who reads them has a laugh at the Poker Gods. May life share a smile with you all, today and always.

The Poker Gods

Chips remained, so I decreed,

a final chance to succeed.

200k the table was set,

All in! All in! The common bet.

9 and 8 fell at the turn,

chips all in the price to burn.

Two more souls for poker heaven,

very next hand we lost number 7.

I had bided my time, held my chips dear,

pocket aces arrived, my course was clear.

6, 5, 4, fell to river card rape,

The Poker Gods spoke but just for my sake.

Four aces standing, tall and proud,

into the last 3 I did abound.

Chip leader to boot I had held my nerve,

backing a flush number 3 did swerve.

Only 2 remained at the mercy of the gods,

all in, all in, not bad odds.

Betting began, hard and fast,

both of us racing to become the last.

All in again, he threw them down,

a gauntlet picked up by this poker clown.

The flop fell, 2 kings in tow,

a king in hand, 1 to go.

A flush was building, the river came,

carrying a king to win the game.

Whether or not they really care,

for some strange reason the poet's still there.

The Poker Gods' Betrayal

River card raped, oh how can it be,

the poker gods spoke but not for me.

They screwed me again with nary a thought,

taking my balance down to nought.

Once or twice I can manage a smile,

but every hand fills the mouth with bile.

You rip off twats can keep your game,

shove it where the sun's in flame.

For this poet has come to an end,

no more money will he ever send.

So a life without poker shall now begin,

the poker gods can wear their grin.

For the Englishman they came to kill,

is still around and not playing still.

But these words he offers thus,

to all the lost souls in the dust.

The poker gods are tincup muppets

whose only game is for willing puppets.

Backache of the old

Unnoticed,

the passage of time lies bathed in sweat,

forgotten momentarily under a broken body.

Forced into resting against my will,

I become a sitting statue, minimal movement my new best friend.

2014 appeared on the calendar,

the spring in my step faltered under the misshaped shadow by my side,

a Quasimodo stance carrying anguish in each ill-defined line.

Internal tears cascade in their own waterfall of pain,

hours roll by amid dark anger riddled moods,

I find clarity in one singular thought,

I am old!

Poetry 02/01/2014

Well today may be cold but it is awash with sunshine, green actually looks green again not some pale washed out version of past days. As often happens with the changing weather in my beautiful village I often find myself staring through my windows and ultimately begin to write. The following poems are the results of my meandering thoughts.

Winter (Brevity)

Silence rides autumn winds,

carrying muted sighs of a season’s birth.

Colour drained landscapes,

await a virginal blanket of obscurity.

Temperatures slip,

frozen in hibernating hopes of seasons past.

The Two Seasons of England

Once as four they came and went,

each season different, alive then spent.

In recent years the seasons became new,

leaving this land with nothing but two.

Wet or cold is all we get,

it appears now summer has set.

Spring went first, simply disappeared,

lost in winter, no longer revered.

Six months rain, now simply a bore,

half a year left, with both at the door.

Wintry gloom rides across the land,

no summer sun can lend a hand.

Thickened cloud in shades of grey,

battered colours held in sway.

Four became two when the rains came,

erasing two seasons till all’s the same.

 Storms and floods are evenly spaced,

Spring and Summer, forever displaced.

Webbed fingers and toes may be next to come,

for the English land that lost the sun.

Winter Green

Winter pauses in its savage brutality,

Igniting hope for the sun seekers of summer.

Night time shades once prevalent hide from this unnatural light,

Tethering themselves to the pursuit of night.

Evergreen becomes real for a moment,

Revelling in the pale out of season sunshine.

Gathering across the sky, ink stained clouds

Reform the horizon, destruction their singular goal,

Eagerly the wait the arrival of their next storm.

Emerging from sun induced slumber, winter sharpens his talons,

Novel indeed are the thoughts of man, winter in green carries a mocking smile.

Poetry 01/01/2014

Hi cyberspace

I created this blog at the request of a very dear friend who would like me to add some of my poetry for people to read. In a moment of weakness I agreed. Hope you find some way to enjoy my words and may this new year be all we can desire and hope for.

Lost for words

Degraded moments of time

lay rotting in senseless shades of apathy

capturing want beneath crosses of broken dreams.

The self became buried,

mired in pages of legible font,

a manuscript of my life for the chosen.

Carrying me through waking lethargy,

lost became the by-word to life

stumbling me through avenues of thought where answers eluded me.

Under the simple guise of words

tainted anger coloured my thoughts.

My inability straight-jacketed my understanding

hiding the faint tune of the publisher and her creative orchestra.

Light cut through the darkness,

awakening the mind in musical remedies of my forgotten art,

her simple caring words offered hope to the lost

and a new challenge was born.

01/01/2014

This was written as a poem that saw me floundering in my art toward the end of 2013 only to be reborn with a new challenge for 2014 but more on that later.

Well today in the little hamlet where I live has been a day of torrential rain and heavy winds much like the rest of the country. Well thanks to this heavy duty weather I was inspired to pen a few poems which I hope all will enjoy.
Thanks for having a look
The Poet

Penumbra-The Half Shadow of the storm

Prelude to a storm you arrive,

a halfling, entrapped in neither night nor day,

the bastard child of nature, unclaimed and unloved.

Smoky grey you spread your diaphanous veil across the land,

waiting for the storm’s fury to be unleashed.

Held rigid amid dark clouds,

night encroaches your borders in shades of pitch,

you hope for life but expect death.

Respite appears in pale sunshine, storm clouds abating,

darkness falls back to the far horizons,

briefly beaten into submission by the rising tide of light.

Alone and forgotten,

you colour the fresh new world in shades of grey,

a half shadow at work, hidden by dark and light on a stormy day.

New Year storm

Pale light gives way to darkness,

Sodden clouds batter the horizons,

Releasing veils of tears upon the ravaged canvas of New Year’s Day.

Behind windows awash with travelling rivulets,

I watch the fury unleashed in rhythmic heartbeats of destruction.

Wind sirens call to me in hypnotic voice seeking entrance to my thoughts,

Whispering at each washed out pane calling me into their turbulent playground.

Peppered with water buckshot,

I traverse quagmire pathways of once solid lands,

Hiding in in hooded security I seek the fabled land of hope.

Reflections lost in a storm

Night within a day on ebony wings glide,

whipping the clouds of war into a frenzy.

Like sailors of old; the flagships ride the squall,

elemental ports open, preparing for war.

Shuffling forward with non-languid grace,

I rest my head upon the cold, ghostly reflection of you.

Siamese twins; locked together in our transparent mirror,

behind/in front of a prison without bars.

Tinged in black ink; tainted clouds lie in wait,

ready to unleash destruction on an unsuspecting land.

Looking upon your worried face; I grimace,

each staccato raindrop a death knell erupting on the glass.

Hands meeting under crackling thunder,

our fingers trace trails of condensation

betraying the fleeting life of the raindrop.

Brothers and sisters, mothers and fathers,

all flowing together into a rivulet of death.

Lifting a finger in absent attention,

I feel for the tears erasing you from existence,

but these tears are yours alone,

my finger scrapes heavily on the aridness of age.

Watery scars now criss-cross your face,

our time is short, but a fleeting moment in life,

I step back;

your mimicked movement almost laughing at my unease.

Murky reflections of ill-defined images,

what was once me is now you;

a macabre mime being washed from existence. 

I see your pain, but feel nothing.

Snapping the blinds closed upon your rage;

I still feel your hot anger behind your latted lids, 

waiting for my ultimate act of betrayal.

Heavy blue shroud in my grip I draw our final act to a close,

releasing you to your watery grave.

Reborn in the sunshine, I await your return,

my reflection, no longer lost in the storm.