Nighttime

Tags

age, Change, creative, Forgetting, lyrics, nostalgia, poems, poetry, time, verse, writing

Looking at you there

Laying on the floor,

Never thought such little time

Thought there would be more,

Eyes that see right through

Packed your thoughts away,

Never found the words I need

Thought I’d more to say.

 

Sun chases dreams

Across the sky,

We look for wings

We try to fly,

And we won’t let the nighttime

Steal the hope from our hearts,

 

Time shows its hand

Sweeps us aside,

Seducer of all

Love’s promised bride,

But we won’t let the nighttime

Steal the hope from our hearts,

 

Face falls away

Etchings of age,

Bodies so frail

Burning with rage,

And now we feel the nighttime

Steal the hope from our hearts,

 

Looking at you there

Laying on the floor,

Never thought such little time

Thought there would be more,

Eyes that see right through

Packed your thoughts away,

Never found the words I need

Thought I’d more to say.

Never Change

Tags

Change, creative, nostalgia, poems, poetry, verse, writing

He watched the shadows lengthen

Like an old man’s coat

Tails torn by the wind,

Stained by love and loss,

Gone the Alaskan Summer

He’d wished would never change,

When high-hung Suns like mirrors

Kissed each waking hour,

His child-eyes blindly clinging

Translucent lids now closed

Still see the dreamed of constants

Beneath the milky dew,

And as the shadows embrace the night,

A lover’s furtive tryst,

He feels the loss ripped from his skin

And draws his own coat tight.

 

Slow

Tags

Communication, creative, faith, lyrics, poems, poetry, verse, writing

Slow
Slow me down
As I spin
To the ground,
You
Held me up
With your words
With your lies,
I
Cannot see
Cannot feel
What you feel,
Fall
Let me fall
From your arms
From your mouth,
Blood
That you spilled
On the sand
Not for me,
Hands
Scratched in time
Hold the pain
Not from me,
Taste
Taste the air
As I slip
From your stage,
Slow
Slow me down
As I spin
To the ground.

Loss

Tags

creative, death, loss, poems, poetry, verse, writing

Each fleeting life

Tissue paper moments

Torn too soon from books

Whose stories cry silent, weeping

Like still green leaves

From Autumn trees,

Borne on the chill

Dispassionate voice that whispers

Syllables that pass to us unheard

But leave a salted watermark

Upon the page,

Our fingers stretch beyond our reach

And clutch the empty air

Now stagnant with our loss,

As tiny memories cling

Like children to our coats

Their eyes imploring,

But our answers fall

Beneath their feet

Impotent breaths lost

Once more.

 

Something

Tags

creative, Creative writing, hope, inspiration, Love, lyrics, poems, poetry, verse, writing

Well I was older

Than my days,

Playing out my time

In middle ground,

Living like a monk

Unholy days,

Checking off the hours

A voice without a sound.

 

You gave me something

On that we are agreed,

Gave me something real

And not something I need,

You showed me something

Yeah, opened up my eyes,

Showed me something real

Brighter than the skies.

 

Well I was younger

Than you knew,

Killing every second

Assassin’s eye,

Leaning from the edge

A life askew,

Safety’s middle ground

And comfort’s easy lie.

 

You gave me something

On that we are agreed,

Gave me something real

And not something I need,

You showed me something

Yeah, opened up my eyes,

Showed me something real

Brighter than the skies.

 

Well you were stronger

Than you knew,

Living in each moment

Open eye and heart,

Captured every image

Living in the new,

Never knew your power

A perfect work of Art.

 

You gave me something

On that we are agreed,

Gave me something real

And not something I need,

You showed me something

Yeah, opened up my eyes,

Showed me something real

Brighter than the skies.

Felt the Sky

Tags

age, Aging, creative, Creative writing, Depression, loss, nostalgia, poems, poetry, Reflection, verse, writing

Saw the lines

Drawn in the sand

That marked our time and place,

Heard the words

In silence fall

That gave life to the lie,

Watched the face

From clouds emerge

Reveal its mocking eye,

Felt the sea

Beneath my feet

All futures soon erased,

Saw the veins

Fill up with salt

An atlas of our days,

Heard the sigh

Of ghosts now gone

Their helplessness unchained,

Watched the flow

Spill over dunes

The drowning man restrained,

Felt the sky

Sink to its knees

And blue eyes turn to grey.

Rust Bitten

Tags

Change, Creative writing, poems, poetry, Principles, verse, writing

Staring like twisted iron railings

Rust bitten and chilled,

Stealing kisses from

A washed out Sun

Which hung with fickle deceit,

I held my ground

And principles that tore and cut

Like paper,

And were they worth what they

Were written on?

The view from my

Side of the road,

Once heavy thronged with

Vibrant promise,

Now ringing hollow

The shell of ghosts now gone,

Limping shadows in temperate climes –

The far side of the street,

The one we cursed with vitriol

And swore we’d never walk,

In slippered steps

Your feet now soundless fall,

As I still stare

My silent roar

The tears beneath your eyes.

 

Episodes

Tags

creative, Creative writing, faith, fiction, flash, flash fiction, short stories, stories, Vignette, writing

     It was at that moment that I realised that my life had been no more than a series of episodes: some linked by connections which only presented themselves with hindsight, when events had long since lost their relevance, others disparate, fleeting, scudding past like clouds in the sky; yet more presenting themselves like movie scenes, half-remembered but titleless.

      And it was to these movie scenes that I had clung, as if they would somehow, miraculously and with the wisdom to time, meld themselves into a story that I was able to follow, to understand, even.

     Yet they came and went with the regularity of Japanese trains, each proferring a new horizon, a sense of purpose to which I was a mere distant observer. Landscapes flashed by me, tantalisingly close yet constantly beyond my grasp: I witnessed every imaginable situation, every conceivable outcome, but always, as they sank below my horizon, I was left with nothing more than a hollow sense of detachment; of impotence.

     The camera rolled and then stopped, rolled and then stopped again, as if responding to silent cries of ‘cut!’. And through each scene I played the role of an extra, watching and waiting. Watching and always waiting.

Here is My Heart

Tags

creative, hope, Love, nature, poems, poetry, verse, writing

Here is my heart

Amidst the mountains high,

Their frosted glistening peaks

Rise with the beat,

Each steady pulse

That echoes through the air,

Falls silent through the snow

And hides me well.

 

Here is my heart

In racing waters free,

Dancing with a spirit

That feeds the blue,

Each flowing pulse

Brings life to other’s eyes,

Awakens senses new

And lets me be.

 

Here is my heart

In forest’s hidden glades,

Shot through with sunlight’s spire

In which to bathe,

Each silent pulse

With nature’s force conjoined,

Sees me rise in splendor

And lets me live.

The Awakening

Tags

Awakening, Communication, creative, dream, fiction, isolation, Philosophy, Prose, short stories, thoughts, writing

     A wash of faces hovered above me like a crudely painted ceiling fresco. Eyes, some filled with hope, others relief, bore into me like burrowing beetles. Beyond them an antiseptic ocean of white stretched as far as my own eyes could see; but I was prone, lying like a whale slowly exhaling its last on a beach the colour of gold.

     There were voices; voices which swirled over me like bees returning to the hive, heavy with nectar. Their sweet words bounced between my ears futile in their attempt to make sense of themselves. The sounds meant nothing to me, and neither did the tones which were targeted in my direction. Did the faces expect a response? Part of me guessed that they did, but I could not fathom the reason.

     The expectation behind the staring eyes was palpable, and even my forgotten, deadened senses could taste it. As for why, well, I could find no explanation. I looked back up at the waves as they crashed and dispersed before my eyes and realised, at last, that not one of them meant anything to me.