Unwrapped is the Scarf

Creamy skin, with fingernail bites
 red streaks obscurely sheered 
 absorbed in fabric, now glued
 to a garment of a soul beneath.

No choice, but to wind then bind 
 enclosed within a folded scarf
 arms wrapped to defend
 these emotions over time.

But vague is the nameless pain
 unexplained, in aimless rooms
 intoxicated is the anguish
 which squanders life
 unable to reclaim.

Then windblown are the seeds when sewn
 strewn amongst the traveled thoughts
 unraveled are the disentangled threads
 when put to bed to rest.

Unwrapped is the scarf
 when love has passed the test
 the nightingale sings away
 the darkness of the shadowed night
 while nestled in the bosom
 as emotions, see the light.

Call the Clan - For Me

Image by Adam Romanowicz
My poem entry for One Shoot Sunday 26 June 2011, at One Stop Poetry

On the peak I stand, to look about and see

this inverted undulation, now spreading out

all around - surrounding me.

Life is changing, the gravity, is liquid deep

a downward inclination - a flue,

which guides the clan to me.

United by a common trait, their mothers breast

once stroked; they return, this rearward motion

- a stairway down, to my pounding chest.

As the warmth flows from the sun

and river to the sea…

A mothers pride -

Call the clan - Call the clan….

they'll return to me.

Call the clan -

for me.

Close my Eyes and Breathe

Through the door and up the stairs
I wander through the halls
afraid to knock
so I whisper to the souls
- who stare.

At the end, I see a room

an open threshold
just within my view
with a dim light
and a shadow
which I….
must step through.

Deep of breath

with warmly painted walls
latex coated taste
now dry of throat
heart beating
in a deepened haste.

Too afraid to move - I stand

and listen... as the silence grows                  
loud upon my heart
afraid - the bells will toll.

One large step

committed - on a hard chair
I now sit
with slated back too straight
within my eyes, I wait
and peek around to see
- it's only me.

So I close my eyes

and breathe.

Mind-fields

I walk through mind-fields
with a gentle foot here
but never there.

Terrified to see
what has happened
and what may be -
it's the uncertainties.

Each forward step my last
or two steps backwards
and there I am
standing in my past.

These little rusted signs
unheeded shots and warnings
hidden beneath tall grass
waving trepidation
which holds me fast.

I watched them walk
…no fields of view
then dogs would bark
- and I did too.

Deep in a mind-field
standing
listening
waiting
for the dogs to come
unsure of what to do.

Some Luster Lost

Image by Rob Hanson
My poem entry for One Shoot Sunday 12 June 2011, at One Stop Poetry

(Flash Fiction 55)

If I could look above
my entanglement ~~ to see
schematics of who I used to be
- ahhh ....well….

Now cradled in her arms
I rest
while wrapped
in dusty thoughts
I can visualize
the filtered places
….that I've been
all the while
waiting
for a spark to ring…
and hoping to regain
- some luster lost.

Let The Roses Grow

You're not invisible to me
I see your hidden tears
trapped beneath and tucked away
for all those dripping years.

But then I found your rain barrel
right beside my house
an over flowing mess
now running fast and soaked
deep into my past.

Now standing on these marshy thoughts
I dwell
wringing time, now drenched
no longer can I say or tell
the difference in the curvatures
of barrel staves from your weighted spine.

In support I kneel to you
wrapping rugged steel hooped arms
around your bulging tear filled cask
unbothered by your weathered wood
or tarnished rusted past.

And I say to you
No longer should you shut this valve
nor staunch the flow, but open wide
so I can clearly see and not to worry
you're not invisible to me
I see your hidden tears
and its okay
to irrigate
and let the roses grow.

The Groom

In my shadow
darkness looms
no hint of light
nor broom to sweep away
the clouded moon.

Best then, that I sit
here on the fringe
dipping feet and mind
into the swimming gloom.

So I close my eyes
and watch, just out there
on the periphery - people
like guards in towers
carrying large lumps of iron
on the verge of bloom.

One deep breath
a curl of eye
a breath again,
and then a sigh…
oh what the hell
I better get in
as it's I there waiting for
- the groom.

It's Yours

What more do you want
what more can I say
you've stolen my heart
but why?

You never say.

It was always yours
never needed to ask
but still -
you just took it
took it like it was yours.

So take it now
and stuff it deep
why not, you took it, it's yours
the whole bloody thing
to keep.

I don’t want it now
this burdened prize
shrunken
no longer do I recognize.

Okay, sure, I'm being a boy
stubborn and harsh
I don’t want to go
but it's you, you're using me
like a toy - and I don't know
- what to do.

Right…. back to the heart
do I need it now
it's under your arm
and crushed.

What more do you want
what more can I say
you've stolen my heart
but why?

You never say.

So take it now

- it's yours

An Old Board

An old board, leans against
my newly painted fence
solid - not hollow of sound.

Sun-baked and peeled
warped, he would wobble
if you laid him flat
bent upon the ground.

Nonetheless,
he could be counted on
despite a hole or two
maybe even a small nail
- or three.

But you see,
he's weathered many storms
sure, I may be newer
but that old board
he's still standing
and it's him, who's now
supporting….
me.

Spilt Emotions

In the moment, all is fine
a cleared table
and a steady mind.

But in a flash
the drapes are closed
and hidden is the sun
-
there's nothing left
and nothing to see
so he begins - to run….

Near the edge
he reaches out
all in the hope… to find.

But then he trips
on his misguided mind
shattered, is the glass
spilt emotions
are now  
dripping….

past.

Until Another Dawn



Image by Rob Hanson
My poem entry for One Shoot Sunday 05 June 2011, at One Stop Poetry

A man sits
and churns away
spinning thoughts
sewn into his day
he thinks.....

Five-thousand years
from Pharaoh’d sands
plains to coast
sewn tapestries
tacked upon minds
pondered and chewed
are the souls of humanity -
now weathered and worn
beast and burdens
dragged.........
beneath mans cobbled feet.

Now pensioned, is his day
until another dawn.

In Hope

I used to think it's me
so I walked those extra miles
just to see the hope.

I'd stretch beyond, well past the point
looking for a place, that even I could see
...or cope.

I would reach out, deep into the fog
trying to find..... some clarity.

I would take a chance, and step out on a limb
while others played, the safe game... of nice
in the guise, of your charity.

Then one day I thought, it's me they see as
crazy, while you play hide and seek...with life.

Yet I continue, to walk..... those extra miles
though tired as tired can be
because you see - it's not about me.

It's not about your charity -
of friends... who say the things
just so you can hear... then run off and play,
another game of hide and seek
thinking that's the key - to life.

So I take a stand, outside the circle
out on the limb - to be the friend
who cares enough
to walk those extra miles.....

and I do it all -

In hope!

In The Waiting Room

She stood by, while I watched
no words shared, no choice
no option, but to stand
and stare.

We looked upon
this naked scene
unsure of how it started
or began...

One foot forward
the other...well
it was way beyond
then I tried
to catch my breath
realizing then
I had forgotten to dress
except the tie, the knot too tight.

But that's okay
as everything
turned out .... alright.

Anyway, here we are
in the middle of the mix
bit of a swoosh and a swish
but no sleeves or tricks.

Just so you know
it all began in the womb
then the next thing I knew
I was there, many years later
myself, standing ...

- in the waiting room.