Fear of Life

 

 

Such fear: I am the captain of my fate,

Reticent retainer of the helm;

Where rapids, rocks and widened waters wait

Is my realm.

 

Do I dare, to fasten to the rigging,

And pin those seven colours to the mast;

To fly under the flag of my beginning,

Not the past?

 

By what inconstant stars, divine my course?

I cannot tell. The words are wild and windy,

But mine as well. And so I pray the force

Be with me.

 

 

Another poetry request from a follower of mine. They wanted a particular sci-fi reference to be woven in: marks for those who spot it. (It ain’t subtle)

 

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“You Did Not Come Back”

 

 

Sleepless dead past midnight hours,

Downstairs the front door harkened to a crack,

Returning to this tomb of ours.

But you did not come back.

 

Footfalls led the floors to creak,

Staircase subtle, guilty landing black –

You darkened to the bedroom, sneak.

But you did not come back.

 

Slipped into uncertain sheets

Where just beside me slept a you-shaped lack.

Got home from him, and your deceits.

But you did not come back.

 

 

Requested by a follower of mine, who provided me with a rather handsome bottle of wine in recompense. Cheers. 

 

 

Seas

 

 

Lapped by waves of lapis lazuli,

Every touch is summer’s softest kiss.

Paddling rock pool fragments of a sky,

Untouched by clouds ephemeral as this.

 

Sea salt scents your lips, and braids the hair,

Brings that lazy bronze to softened skin;

There’s memory in texture, in the air,

In seeking where the sea and sky begin.

 

Tactile sands remind the toes to touch.

Waves chop white on cresting, catch a breeze,

Recede to sounds of missing this so much:

Returning to the subtle, sleepless seas.

 

 

 

Imposter Syndrome

 

 

I’m not sure that I could be happier. Once presented

With such great news – the very, very best –

The congratulation’s preciously resented.

I’d shake your hand, but I dare not: lest

You read a fortune in a frosted palm.

For a man who’s doing oh so very well,

The blood seeps in my veins like frozen clam.

I’m very glad. And I can hardly tell.

Flaunted feats – I’ve won the lot, in spades,

And praise is laid as though I’d even died,

Haunted by laurels and gilded accolades.

I couldn’t be happier – and heaven knows I’ve tried.

 

 

Where Angels Are

 

 

From the Dark I here beseech,

Travel in myself so far

That by a candle I may reach

To where the angels are

 

Before, behind, to left and right

My ancient guides invisible

Summoned from across the night,

Indivisible

 

The path I take, I here begin,

By following no sainted star:

The search both starts and ends within.

I know where angels are.

 

 

Requested by, and written for, a follower of mine. 

Death of August

 

 

The summer’s slowly dying, here. My heart

Already mourns

 

Her eyes are sapphires, lost their lustre

Long ago

 

Her every breath is like the tide

Drawing out

 

Longer, deeper, silent – reaches for

A further shore

 

The coolness in her fingertips began

To creep higher

 

They gave us blankets for her final days,

Keep her here

 

A little longer

 

Every moment, she leaves me behind.

But I cannot leave her.

 

 

 

For summer, and for Mother. 

 

 

 

Who are we / We are here

 

for Guy

 

Who are we, that we came to be here?

Stardust children, diamonds in our worth,

Driftwood of a tidal atmosphere

Just fell to earth

 

What is she, brown mother, cool and soft,

To send green branches dancing up above?

A cabbage white in dalliance aloft,

Silent as love

 

Where is this, the fingerprints of leaves,

The footprint stones, an open sky so clear?

She makes a home for he who first believes:

We are here.