Wednesday, 30 November 2011


Another poem that seemed to want to stay on the back-burner for a fairly long time but it now feels ready to release into the blog.

Shades - 28 Nov 11

In the pre-dawn dark
I watched the sparks
From the fire of night
Spiral to the sky
To call the coming Sun

Shades of night
Still dance
In courtly manner
In the corners
Of the world’s dreams

Our dreams now take
Centre stage
They walk
Leading our waking selves

Shades of day
Dreams now brighter
Than the Sun
Fill our eyes

Light on the path
All around us
Leading the way
Listen to the music…
Let us dance

This is also another of the Muse inspired songs - She likes to keep me thinking.

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Saturday, 26 November 2011

The Cloister Bell

The opening line of this poem had been in my mind for a couple of days, though I had no idea where it was leading me...till yesterday, when more started to grow and the end result I now present here.

Cloister Cemetery in the Snow
Caspar David

The Cloister Bell - 24 Nov 11

The Cloister bell
Rang in discord
Across the endless snow
Crows, rooks and ravens
In funereal waed
Cluster round
The fresh dug grave
Eye the stones
With their worn-out words
Unread through ages
Hooded eyes watch
With predatory air

Landscape mocks
White on black
The mourners
Black on white

A solitary scarlet rose
Cast upon the ground
Mocks blood
Soon hidden by the snow
Ignored by the birds

Then silence
Save the Cloister bell

One word may need to be explained ~ Waed [pronounced “weed”] is an Old English word meaning, “garment”. It still is in use, with the spelling "weed", in the phrase "widow's weeds"

referring to the mourning clothes.

I thank my Muse for hinting so strongly about what I needed to do for this poem.

This is my offering for:

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Monday, 21 November 2011

Fading Dreams

I was watching some tracks on YouTube when a few words heard, or probably misheard, triggered some words of my own to start to come together in my mind. This is an antithesis of the usual love poems that have been appearing here, I just feel that my brain wanted to scribe something different.

Fading Dreams - 21 Nov 11

Fading dreams
A handful of petals
Crumbling now…
In my pocket the thorns
Remind me
Blood on my fingertips
I taste the salt

Dawn was not a release
Cloud smudged the sun
Night held on
To the thoughts
That birthed the
Spewed them into the morning

Dreams are all I really had
Once shining bright
Now tattered, tarnished
Cast to rust
Across the ground
I rise into the cold
Followed by the fading dreams

I hasten to say here that this poem is in no way autobiographical and nothing should be read into these words except the random triggering that my Muse offers.

This is my offering for...


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