Poetry Blogs (mystery)

i am as a sapling in the shadow of a hundred year oak
try not to breathe, not to stir
i wish to remain unnoticed at the edge of your meadow
here in my solitude
i dare not disturb this perfect silence
inexplicable and deeper than night
nothing casting it
a black shadow wavers in the bright sunlight
it covers the the meadow floor
pulling at my curiosity I am lost in it's mystery
forgetting...

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Hey there lonely girl,

what are you doing wandering around

these dark places?

Don’t you know that 

evil lurks about? 

The void is littered

with those who will use you,

abuse you,

scar your soul for eternity. 

Listen to my pleas,

I’m begging on bended knees,

move forward

towards the light,

no matter how tempting

the mysterious

shadows may be. 

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As I leave my home behind

To walk the far farm fields

The spirit of the land enfolds me

Its silence becomes my mantle

While I alone hear

Those wafted word

As the wind caresses the treetops

Whispering englynion

To lure me on

Through woodland and moor

Beyond fences, ever deeper into a land

Clothed in swirls of radiant mist

Rising from plashy pools and tarns

Amo...

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This poem is a reverie and contemplation of my mother.

Time and Windows

If the past is a tattered old book,

then why am I a ghost

at my mother's window,

so clear I can sense her mystery,

and her brown eyes, so alive?

Look, I can fly to her

through the high windows

of my memory

until I'm so close that she disappears,

and the curtain flutters silently.

A...

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It became the moon above the ashes,

I winded sight of the streams that gushed through the glaciers,

And I wander about their blanket of flowers.

Did the sky become bleak for a reason?

To wander about the broken path within the rotting forest of the mind,

To feel sadness down and witness the flames rise from the oceans,

To sit beneath the stars for the comfort of the dis...

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Sickly branches spread out from the bodies of comatose trees,
And her feet fall on leaves that have died,
Paper-thin corpses at one with the ground frost,
With each step she feels that she might,
Fall through the earth and plummet for years,
Leaving Welsh winters behind,

Crystalline grass blades stand neatly under silver pink skies,
She follows where the gravelled path snakes,
Her concer...

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We talk.

A lot about her,

yet I know nothing about her.

She shapes words

but I hear emptiness

and all that exists her mouth is air.

She gives me carbon dioxide

but little care,

little advice or help,

little information.

Just ambiguous comments,

large words meaning nothing

and letters sounding silence.

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I've been out to Dovestones walking. On the grassy slope by the woods to the right of the access road I found a letter. Hidden. Written by a goth girl on decaying paper. Past damp, full of holes and three bits of gum stuck to it. It told her story. Lock the tiger up, secure the house, said how down she is. I don't see her name. What's your name my dark angel? There's an envelo...

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The 7th City 

The warplane lay broken on the barren desert floor utterly broken, forgotten and forlorn. Painted on her side are the names of six cities; next to each is a faint but distinct image of a mushroom cloud. There were six in all each next to a city name written in their native language they read: Moscow, Berlin, London, Shanghai, New York and Rio de Janeiro. Next to the shat...

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MIRACLE

Endless miles of ocean stretching out before them,

compass needle wandering wildly, only option to fly

by the sun and hope for a miracle, their miracle.

Blue sky overhead for a thousand horizons,

nature’s world, mankind here is a guest,

as the small Electra plane is buffeted by turbulence,

two people aboard start to panic.

Where are we? We are...

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https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=a4CTUrn3LYg

Dream of a nation, they built a big airship for Arctic exploration. Things went so well, taking a plethora of readings and photographs till a head wind sprung up. They used most of the fuel battling the wind. Serious technical trouble followed. This would go downhill, fast.

A crash!

Ripping fabric, torn envelope. Sma...

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  To Liverpool

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For him the song took a whole new meaning,

a control that made him wish to control others.

“Something's gotten hold of my heart”

an evil, a darkness

he mused on midnight

and the encroaching demonic hours.

3am and a stereo's blazing in a stolen Volkswagen Beetle

inaudible white noise, a prerequisite

for the red mist to follow.

“He seeme...

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