Shakespeare ~ Sonnet 116 (here because it’s true)

Let me not to the marriage of true minds
Admit impediments. Love is not love
Which alters when it alteration finds,
Or bends with the remover to remove:
O no; it is an ever-fixed mark,
That looks on tempests, and is never shaken;
It is the star to every wandering bark,
Whose worth’s unknown, although his height be taken.
Love’s not Time’s fool, though rosy lips and cheeks
Within his bending sickle’s compass come;
Love alters not with his brief hours and weeks,
But bears it out even to the edge of doom.
If this be error and upon me proved,
I never writ, nor no man ever loved.

My Heart

my heart is no longer an open book
not even to myself
it’s in a language i can’t read
the pages keep on turning
the pages are well-thumbed
I am tired of reading

i don’t know whether i should smile or groan
i am looking for a sign
a symbol
a fingerprint
that shows that it’s still mine
or is it yours
has it always been yours
all the time

to kindle a spark
of recognition
on this dim lit path
i am seeking an illustration
of a crossroads
in the dark

Winter Witch

Asleep in my arms, an angel,
or am I sleeping, in a dream?
The smell of her soft hair enfolds me,
drowns me, holds me,
emboldens me to think she’s real.
Deep in my dream she pushes, rolls me,.
A hot spark rushes,
entwines my spine,
a strong tender warmth, in the dark.
Every move she makes, a stroke,
a touch that tells me she is mine.
Her gripping thighs press hard against me.
My mind explodes. I’m on fire.
Our passion steams up the windows
and still desire doesn’t tire.
I love her in ways my words never tell.
Her breath on my neck, a bewitchment,
I’m spinning under her spell.
She is wild as rushing water,
she sweeps me home and away.
When the rapid falls are over,
she reaches out for again.
She is drenching rain.
She lays beside me,
slumbering in sensual rest,
contented beneath my hand.
I am her first dry land.
The snow outside is piling high.
White blankets wrap up the door.

The Caterpillar Speaks (updated version)

The Hatter is a lunatic
He never knows which card to pick.
The March Hare is always running late.
He hasn’t even got a date.
The clock’s not as it seems.

The Hatter has bad dreams,
He’s always in distress
And Alice has a problem too,
She’s not sure what to do
When she doesn’t fit her dress.

They’re lost inside a fairy tale
And none of it is true.

There’s a thought inside the Hatter’s head
That Alice is his match
But he hears laughter all the time.
The cards are hard to catch.
He can’t make reason out of rhyme,
And every time he thinks of love
He’s haunted by a bat.

Twinkle twinkle little dove,
His stars may help with that,
They’re shining bright enough above
And all will be complete
When he sees roses
Scattered at his feet.

 

 

 

Don’t Paint the Roses

 

she remembered she was falling
reaching for a cake  crumb
swallowing a draught
that completely turned her head

she was running round the roses
painting red and white
challenging the chess board
to manoeuvres in the dark

she had a distant memory
of a love that struck a spark
but the tables all kept turning
when he tried to take her hand

in the horrors and delusions
that stalked this troubled land
he loved her all the time
but he had lost his mind

lovers often lose their way
whether they are sane of mad
all is topsy-turvy
when the news is  always  bad

they race around in shadows
tying to find a light
their dreams become a nightmare
ruining their night

but up above the stars shine out
constellations point the path
if only they could both sit down
gazing up at last

the roses never needed paint
he knew that all along
check mate only brings an end
to more that can be done

lovers only need to sit
and think what love’s about
and forget the silly games
that pull them inside out

 

 

Honour the Dead

honour the long loved dead
by being the person they’d want
don’t offer them dying flowers
don’t linger too long by the tomb
don’t keep the curtains closed
let in the light into the room
honour the dead in your life
honour their wishes for you
accept that thought as their gift

honour them
honour their virtues
that’s all we must do for our dead
we know all the words they would speak
listen to all they would say
we will always take them with us
to be our loving guide
as we follow the path ahead
into another day

Walking on

yes – there was strong attraction
some instinctive pull caught our eyes
there was little value in that
when we couldn’t look into the future
hindsight is always wise

the first time i think i loved you
was under the trees near the river
when you asked why i never chose you
i wanted to wrap you and hold you
i answered politely instead
my words were gentle and kind
but i don’t recall what i said
and i had to walk away

later, much later,
after many days had passed
as the river flowed under the bridge
when i told you i loved you
i didn’t feel loved in return
so ironic
i left you
so much walking away
so many crossings of bridges
to reach the love that was there
under the trees that first day

now we are back where we started
but so much further on
now we are walking together
with a love that is deeper and strong