So then, stick by stick tonight we tear off strip after strip the newest feathers first then the older twigs and vines with each one my heart drops until there’s nothing left and nowhere lower just empty branches where our sweet home once was
Inch by inch we pack and divide the moss all the soft things we’ve collected years of careful, loving selection pecking them away, each and every one my heart stops as we place them in our beaks to separate forever over an unknown distance just a meaningless assortment of what once was our sweet home
Doing what we know we must we both say it’s for the best the home we had just turns to dust pull apart the perfect nest
You fly south I stay north and never again will our sweet home be here…
Leaves of brown and green watching as the fire reveals a destiny for us flames licking their lips at the change of solid and tangible into smoke On a beach of melancholy teenagers destroying themselves for something that they can’t explain or focus on the big picture that is still being drawn…
Bottles of green and brown offering their joyous and deceptive contents up ready to infiltrate our consciousness convince us that the weight has lifted a sea of liquid to baptise our brains then we dance and talk of this rebirth forgetting all about thoughts of maths or progress the new beginning we’ve been dreaming of…
Leaves of brown are falling in the sunrise but day reveals that gravity has won again our heavy heads are hard to lift now and the breaking waves outside sing loud A song of measured secrets that expose themselves a beautiful harmony of movement the moon under which we slept last night brings them to us with it’s strong will
Bottles of green bloom in the sand empty shells left behind from the war we fought the best we could all night and momentarily there was a surrender a decoy that we fell for too easily now, in the morning light, it’s obvious the horizon arcs itself out before us a new beginning comes every day a new beginning is ours every day…
I don’t write them like I used to they’re not carved out of my bone the way they used to be
I don’t bleed over the carpet in some mouldy rented bathroom like I used to
They used to say it was the angst that drove me some mild flair for painting what had pained me but you have to make peace eventually I don’t know what is driving this anymore
At the end of that final line there’s an ellipsis at the end of all I said there’s an ellipsis saying so much more than I
Now, I don’t sweat it out in twisted sheets with cramped heart and cracked beliefs surrendering my barbed emotions like a flag the way I used to
I don’t tap that vein of pure unfocused bile don’t let it gush across the front row of my imagined audience they don’t say much about my unbridled verse these days like they used to
At the end of every poem there’s an ellipsis at the end of all I said there’s an ellipsis dragging on and on
She came to me with pride and her sealed conditions said she wanted someone she could trust with a rousing proposition to ease her cobwebbed lust
It was cold out there on the avenue I’d been walking lonely for some way it was the idleness of her greeting it was the hint of warmth within
There was little choice to make and nothing smart in my reply ‘just come inside, keep it between the universes of you and I’
It was an idle flame that we both tended its very dimness was the whole idea but standing up to leave one morning I must have knocked a pillow into the flame…
Let me fan the flames of your fandom tickling ‘like’ and painting praise watching out for typos You and I should duck out of here you and I should get a room
What would we do in there behind the locking door? Turn two armchairs facing inwards swap endless breathless monologues clinging on to voices hanging from each word at what point would we be satisfied at what point would we be done
Let’s assume there’s a bed in that room or an armchair or a shower at what point would we be satisfied at what point would we feel like one
Afterwards, the peace glide and searching open eyes scanning for silent truths for glimpses of emotion, for clues at what point would we be satisfied at what point would it feel enough
There’s an ocean of desire between your pen and my paper there’s an ocean of water between your hem and my wrist
You and I should duck right out of here you and I need to get a room…
Walking to the old wooden mill walking up Windmill Hill
Walking high above the sleeping villages stomping slow through powder snow following my friend as he stretches his legs moving as two faint dark figures across the dim blue glowing fields
See smoke rising from a chimney off in the distance, a single building shivers one light flickers in an upstairs window I momentarily wonder what they might be doing huddling for warmth by the fading orange fire?
On nights like this I walk for miles until my shoes are consolidated ice and I can’t walk too many steps more on nights like this I love to drift freely let thoughts unfold in the clean crisp air a few pure hours among the hills and valleys
When I free my mind and let all grip swing away when I am calm and utterly alone always the things I find, that I dwell upon are the gratitude and joy I experience daily it’s the happiness and the luck that seem to surround and blanket me daily
I know life won’t always be this gracious won’t always handle me so gentle or easily I know that health and the blessing thereof is a passing gift that will soon be gone and yet to know that times like this exist renews and amplifies the hope and happiness I carry with me
The snow begins to fall again my furry friend shakes the flakes from his heaving back now we must return to the sleeping village both of us, content and smiling
lost in the endless beauty of the living world looking for calm amongst the chaos and knowing that it’s out there somewhere it’s out there or in here somewhere…
