Tag Archives: day

I don’t want my eyes open (poem of mine)

I don’t want my eyes open
I want the black dreams
The jittery
I want the revelation
Of turning clouds
And pale skies
That drown like
Ghosts in the light.

I don’t want my eyes open,
I want peace
Like a plain sheet
And a window propped
To an outside chorus
And a mind as clear
As a blue day.

I don’t want my eyes open
To feel my stomach churn
Head burning with conversation
The friction
Of the daily grind.
I don’t want
My eyes open.


Red Admiral (poem of mine)

On the decking
A mug
And a table
And a chair
And trousers
Soaked in last night’s rain;
I thought of butterflies.
Ever since you said
That Uncle Freddie
Told her he was coming back as one,
We know it as a sign,
Was this, one of those
That you laced into my thoughts?
Or was it just the rain
And a promise of sun,
A shift of nature,
But those brazen wings
In that punch to the face red,
I had to take a pause,
Within my pause,
And notice your colour,
Amongst the fading greens.
I know when a day is dark,
And it is significant,
You will come along.
I don’t know who you are,
But here’s hoping,
You know me.
I say hello, silently,
Into my coffee.

Because (poem of mine)

I say
I am a poet
I throw words at ceilings
At 3 am
And I hold daydreams
Like fingers
Hold pages in books
I feel love
Like orange street lamps
I can lie all day
Under purple blossoms
And sing lullabies
In a million ways.

And I believe
I believe in the unflinching
Of my being.
And I believe in
Because I pick seashells up
And the whispers sound
Like the sea will speak.

I find poets in people
I see the shadows rest
In the corners of your lips.
I hear birds singing sea shores
In shells.

To the Lighthouse (poem of mine)

The day bores me blue,
And the hours, tighten as a wire.
But the night brings a craving,
For the cradle
For a tiredness that will never tire.

While the crude lisp of winter
watches, like a Serpent,
on my days,
My home is a home between arms,
And your comfort
Keeps weather at bay.

Your eyes,
They will warm these dry embers
In the long thawing
Of my black night.
And these ships will reel on my shorefront,
Aimless as white, patterned kites.

For every part of me is seeking,
As a gale that tears through a storm,
Yet the seeker will surely be brought,
To the lighthouse,
Where the light may be born.

Ashes (poem of mine)

Sleep trails off,
Thoughts like chalk
leave their white lines
in my mind.

Dark bleeds into day,
Night rotates
to night, then
darkest daylight.

This fretful glaze of
Its treacle sickness
hangs above me
as a defeated cloud.

Unsteady as a new fawn,
I tremble with my uneasiness,
The pit of my stomach
reaches to my feet.

The world remains,