Poetry Blogs (myth)
effective myth, metaphor, & mysticism transcend
semantic efforts to articulate dynamics erupting
dreamlike amidst more trusted, linear conceptions
of reality, imagination, experience, & being
by presenting arrangements so engaging, uncannily
familiar, irreducibly insightful, idealogically slippery,
that the foamsplash suddenness of its crashing
across a previously unnotic...
Thursday 17th October 2019 1:52 pm
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
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
Tuesday 17th April 2018 2:32 pm
Not the cross or the thorns
or the blood or the nails,
not the spear or the whip
or the rumble of stones
from the mouth of a tomb.
Not the hatred and bigotry,
the small minded hypocrisy
of this clan or that clan
whose father is biggest
or most feared or cherished.
Not the myth and the fable
espoused by blind acolytes
heaven bent on venge...
Saturday 31st March 2018 2:53 pm
My love is a two-edged weapon, wielded by insecurity and sharpened with fear.
Akin to Pandora’s pithos, it remained concealed; destruction would only come of openly sharing it to the outside world.
My heart is shielded, once scarred by mistrust, now a lone vessel playing a broken melody looped:
Just as soldiers march through wet trenches in perf...
Friday 16th February 2018 1:26 pm
Like grains of rice, her love it grows;
Forms a crown from lush meadows.
Beneath their skulls with blooming fields,
Dandelions caress skin, living shields.
Arrays of light pour onto ivory,
Little, brown connect-the-dots scatter accordingly.
With envy in their eyes, the fairies hover,
Frowning between one another;
Wondering how they lost their glen
To a pair of human...
Tuesday 14th March 2017 5:07 am
Dockery Plantation Blues
In a Mississippi graveyard,
as the midnight hour crawls,
sits a young boy and his guitar
wailing tunes at the moon.
He prays his fingers faster
as they dance across the frets,
weeping at his inability
to speak in tongues from the strings.
He is lost in a fugue
of chaotic chords and strumming,
as the Delta Blues pour muddy,
like the churning brown river,
Thursday 26th March 2015 7:48 pm
A Tree In The Elephant’s Graveyard
It began with a pen
beneath a tree.
upon a rat
to rest awhile.
The paper was white
and stared at me
The pen hovered,
around My neck.
I thought of stars
of gouache landscapes.
Still the paper
fuck the pen.
Monday 17th November 2014 8:13 pm
He died in the Ark
Drowned in sailor suit
A dropping deck for pitch in flame
Not made of balance iron nor dream round
He was the right man for marriage
Animals run one to the other
None of the women have names
Wives of sons
Sons of wives
The dress is torn
The flood honours extinction
Monday 21st May 2012 9:48 am
Helen needs no costume
She swims across to cold acres
To hit the dead
We found her in crack sharp earth
Sad and cut to the middle
We cannot fight this prince!
We cannot stand against this city!
Send Helen back to them
One day we too shall love
Monday 21st May 2012 9:12 am
And after creation the god gave man a beautiful goddess and an axe to destroy her with Sun looked out at sun daughter and their children Sun and Fire The last in black What am I living Give apart the other all dreaming past future incidence dark and rigid earth is thrown from my hand the sun touches the water flow and fell
Thursday 10th May 2012 11:24 am
Summoned and speaking from a despairing city
A door in a cave
Haunted by fallen tombs
Bright under thunder a beautiful girl in marriage is led away by disappearing fairy folk
Vague lantern near to death bed
An old man watches the peace
This is the cave
Friday 13th April 2012 12:34 pm
Twisted Maleficarum turned abomination
desperately seeking a return to one's humanity.
pumping passion like the blood that summoned them.
Bleeding tears, sweating fears
soaked in trepidation.
Summon some feeling
no time for healing
when paint is just pain with
twin pronged brush strokes.
Tattered, trying, tonal
Tuesday 10th January 2012 6:11 pm