Three Streams

Longing

I smell your voice
in the warm summer night
the thick smoke hewn weight of it
laughing through the air
a brother to the darkness
is this place of dreams
this time of all times
and none

Youth’s Last Night

the forfeits
fought and died for
dead soldiers line the walk,
wasn’t that a party
that time that time forgot
and so have I
only the chill of the hour
seeping up my legs
my hems wet with
dawn’s dews


Matter Horn

shattered and shorn,
sleep tattered torn,
worn with spatters of bloody dreams
revealing futures fled
and pasts unseen
like the dimlit path that guides me
onward asleep to you
oh hold me love
and let the dark be our all
it is all I have left
a prayer, a spell
unchanted

aPaD: Icarus' Affianced

fly with me, before the storm
tears us from the sky
before the heat of the sun
like the hammer of a jealous god
melts these waxen wings
to punish us for daring
to love so hard so high
so long
the earth is a far thing
not to be considered
when love has given us wings

but

always, I fear
gravity's inescapable rule
the inexorable fall
hearts in mouths and fingers reaching
to hold
just for one second more
and then that final tumbling crash
to arid earth or sunclawed wave
to grief and pain
and hard harsh reality

unless

we could direct our fall
use the storm winds to speed us forth
cutting before the god's rage
and alight instead
amidst cool linen sheets
and soft eiderdown clouds
a nest
made for loving
and holding safe
such odd birds as we

feast

we spread the sheet like a table cloth
and take our places with eager anticipation
and the first remove is served
your mouth my hands, your skin on my skin
a banquet of flavours and textures
a joyous celebration of the sensual
warm, cool, icy hot,
the temperatures flow as we find our rhythm
sweet,, sour, savoury, salty
richness of flavours exploding
mouths enraptured, eyes wide with delight
enjoying, savouring, celebrating our feast

and once we are done,
replete with love and content
flooded like the river valley
sighing in delight and
wanting the taste of more,
but unable to lift a finger for it

and in the midst of plenty
we cry for the famine just past
and that about to come

the moment when

startled
crisp and golden
(the moment when)
you met my eyes
said the word
and made me
yours

Reaching

the day started so grey and sad,
a dark misted rain obscuring everything
and the colours of spring dimmed
we go about our seperate days,
I here
you there
struggling, living, working

and every now and then
I reach for you
knowing your arms are waiting
knowing your smile quirks your lips
knowing your eyes meet mine in that
sexy sloe stare, that half promise
half challenge
that always makes me smile

and the weather just doesn't matter
if it's windy and warm there
or cold and clammy here
we are reaching each other
together

Holding On

when all we can do is cling

all the tears sucked down by the vortex

not even breath enough to scream

white water

rapids and rocks

the pounding grinding rush

each day another tumble

another chute of the rapids

and all we can do is hold on

hold close

and wait for the calm

Sakura

rain silvered petals

the alchemy of April

drifting pink blossoms

spring snow is not white

but silver pale and soft glowing

blossoming love's pink

cherry blossoms glow

in the pink of the petals

I find reborn hope

Enchantment

he watches through the magic glass
the witch combing her hair
the wooden tines sliding through the silken mass
each long stroke followed
by her shapely pale hand smoothing
stroke, slide, stroke, slide
he cannot look away
hypnotized by the sensual grace of the ritual
by the exquisite riches beyond his reach

she knows he is there
she knows he watches her
she knows and it pleases her deep and devious mind
she does not change her pattern
or create more of a show
but she knows, oh she knows

firelight gleams behind her,
moonlights sheen on her face
her shoulders bare to his bespelled gaze
and she combs and strokes slowly
till the hair lies smooth,
waves and curls of honeyed gold
over skin warm and waxen pale

he cannot see it yet
has never felt all that he dreams of darkly
:his hands in her hair buried
her face below his, luminous and soft
her scent pervading
entrapping his senses
the petalled softness of her skin
and the golden silken slide of her hair
in disarray over the wine-dark pillow

she knows he dreams
she knows he rides wish-horses wild
and smiles her triumph over his heart and soul
even as she lies down upon her darkly golden bed
wrapped round in wards and circles of protection
and draws the spidersilks close
she knows, but as she veils her eyes to sleep
she smiles small and sweet, and

he sees
that she knows
and more...
that she dreams too.

Healer

I lay wounded
alone and hurting
sore, scared, and scarred
a prison cell or hospital bed
so cold, noisy, impersonal and cruel

when silence comes it brings cold peace
and sleep taunts from her cobwebbed corner
I ache and cry, alone again, alone
with regret and remorse's price
paidin pain

and there in the stillness
your voice drips down to me
honeyed balm to a wounded heart
saying all the right things
in all the right ways
and melting truth in
every golden
sweet word

QuickSilver

how fast the river flows

lambent beads sliding together

a powerful whole that is made up of so many parts

and in its inexhorable motion

changes everything

even the water's course itself

an alchemical mystery

inspiration like quick

silver

muting and morphing and transforming

ideas into words into

shining towers and the arching

parabola

that tears those towers down

the dark magics

of change, always changing

aPaD

A Poem a Day. 01

Where is April?

woke to snow
mixed with ice-rain
first day of flowerful
and no weather change
it's still winter within
you're still so far away
we're still clinging to hope,
in the still of the wait

Waking

like the sky of spring
too bright and aching
pulling up clouds for covers
let the rain fall
and ease me back
to our bed
to curl into your arms
and wait in sleep
like a new leaf
unready to unfurl

Another Late Night

...and no sign of the end of the road, the narrowing tunnel, the broadening expanse of the dreamlands call. You are so wrapped up in the cocoon of your own changes that you can't see out, stretch out to share an arm and shoulder to cry (havoc) upon.

I cannot need you so much, who have so little to offer in trade.

Trapped in the patterns, in the road travelled too well, and the ruts too deep to lift a crippled foot free.

I saw an old horse yesterday, heavy and lethargic and hurting. His knee looked like mine, his leg misshapen by pain and lack of use. If I was a horse, I'd have had me put down ages ago. What hope of a life without movement, freedom?