It’s all new and fresh and young,
Glistening like promise on a spring flower.
My fragile, tender silence begs you:
Do not break me for I am weak.

You, with your warm, enveloping skin,
and deep dark, dangerous eyes.
I feel my future in your gentle kiss,
Sense no goodbyes in your eyes.
You are mine.
And I jump into your pool,
sacrifice myself for just one minute more,
to be only yours.

My heart is racing to catch you,
beating so hard it might just burst,
I have an unquenchable thirst and desire
for you and us, for this, our love.
Let it rain.

For GJ 06/10/14

pic credit: unknown tumblr find, please advise if know
pic credit: unknown tumblr find, please advise if know

Surprise Cadence

Poetry can be from the heart,
words of worth spiced with
paprika perception, pretty phrases
spiraling ideas and salad dressed ideals
to make them easier to swallow,
the bland truth easier to digest.

The mood can strike at any time,
sometimes it’s inspiration hitting hard,
your heart pounds and your pen
tries desperately to keep up with your brain.
Spelling is forgotten.
The joined up, grown up handwriting
practiced so carefully as a child is lost to scrawl.

At other times you sit and stare,
pensive, away in the clouds, thinking,
and slowly an idea forms and you write
it down precisely step by step,
then fill it out with analogies, alliteration,
(all tricks learned in English years ago)
or with cleverly thought out description.
It doesn’t cut as deep if made blunt by beauty.

You could be inspired by a teacup
or use the tools of gender, ethnicity,
being an outcast as a child, death or sunlight
and sometimes you’re inspired while running on
the beach in long, white flowing dresses,
and sometimes not. I often find I regurgitate
common themes of truth, clocks, time, death,
women, Wales, sex, love. What more is there?

Sometimes you chose a stanza or design,
rhyming couplets, freestyles, ABBA,
(though I prefer Black Sabbath myself)
often you decide your purpose, style or mood.
but oftener (you make up words)
and write feverishly about…well
you’re not sure what and stumble onto sense.
you re-read and understand
perhaps you mean that, you’re awfully clever,
or perhaps it’s just a lucky accident.

Who knows?
But one thing’s for sure, wherever you go,
whoever you become, whatever you do,
even if you haven’t written in years,
your mind will constantly be forming
pretty phrases to say
what you really mean.


There’s a hunger deep within calling me,
a voice I can’t quite hear.
My desire for something that isn’t free
is binding me to my need.

There’s a need I have that can’t be satiated,
it calls to you I know.
It tricks me because it needs to be fed,
it tells you I want you.

There’s a want in me that cannot be seen,
a lust that can’t be tamed.
It doesn’t care for truth or what has or hasn’t been.
its just starving for flesh.

Feed me.


Poem twenty four

Vacant, disconnected, removed.
Grief washes over you in waves
And I can but watch.
You are floating further away from me,
Barely enough strength to keep yourself going.
I reach out to catch you but
You cannot open your eyes long enough to see me.
I throw you a life raft but I miss.
I knew I would.
You’re drowning now and no one can save you.
My hope is just keeping you afloat.


Poem twenty three

Constrained and bound,
Held at ransom.

Every decision governed,
Free will removed,
Choices stolen.

It’s ‘for the best’
‘The only way’
‘My best chance’

I’m suffocating,
Rejecting the truth.

And in time I breathe,
The air is clear,
The chains unwind.