When Winds Weep

‘Though lost in howling gales
that tether me to their tempest charm,
I can still nurture and carry you with me.
I left you only briefly to catch my breath,
that too is taken from me.’

Darkness clothes a fragile bosom that once held
in its clasp lovers and babes
who now suckle the misted air
around her still feet.
Cold and alone they glide as one, lost to her
until time can soften such stone.

Grief seeps the cleavage as its hunger devours a
faint grip – a moist hand touches her robe
and begs tears to heal the deep sorrow
that plagues her still.
Rivulets run away from her, but never very
far or for very long.

Love’s Fair Bounty

Picture: Vincent Van Gogh

What summer’s sad fair
wouldst have me grace thy lips rightly
without strokes of seduction?
Tantalising is it not when ripeness befits
us as hosts and we lay warmly against each?
O, to take comfort
from those comely eyes is indeed
like breath itself,
for they eagerly greet such slender hopes
with backs as yet unbroken against
the firmament’s green sheets,
and that from whence we lay, to steer to riches
inside of the vast continent orb above
this fair orchard is remarkable. ‘Tis little to suffer
her streamers of adulation as we cradle
true love’s generosity
amongst each other in these verdant fields.

Daily Post : Bounty

Some Fish are Ticklish

sounds of the song thrush
muffle the crawling croak
of the drift boat
we lie on our backs to watch
them swoop – dam busting
the fog – it kisses them briefly
as if they were passing ships
in the night or shy lovers
skimming their stones
to watch heartbeats skip

off ………..^^^into^^^ …………^^^the^^^……………^^dis^^………..^^tance^^

 trailing hands send shivering
silver threads of fish
to usher the sun’s harsh glare,
they become her roving glints
rotating their messages like bees
away from the honey pot;
their figure-eight of secret code
swims under the lake’s cool,
diaphanous skin.