A WOODEN SURRENDER – A POEM

Writing

I wondered what had toppled

that torso of sturdy oak,

crippled, hollow, beneath

a frosted cape of white,

recalled how high those

branches stretched, to sky, 

to cloud, far from from

the humble earth beneath;

I was younger than the settling snow,

and thought things went forever. 

Traipsing on, I conjured scenes

that showed it, mighty, felled

by a tempest’s wailing screams

of lightning, spark and smoke,

yet I knew the death was

thick and slow, a fog

that robs the night;

I wallowed in my memories,

the crooked bough that

snaked and weaved,

it seemed impossible to fold.

I thought of it rotting, steady,

pulling roots failing to hold,

in the saddest of my visions

as my skin crawled with the cold.

 

MY OTHER WRITING – HERE

RAINBOW – A POEM

Writing

I am surrounded,

stuck, shrouded on

an island, black and white,

Marooned by melancholy

draining colours from my sight,

They slip along these sands of grey

and mingle with the ocean spray,

Hiding like the night.

 

I want to step upon

the shore, fall into

water, start to swim,

Leave the dark behind me

as I claw with aching limbs,

Remember all my eyes have missed,

A palette that still glows with bliss

upon your rainbow skin,

Pink pastels trapped within

your lips,

I hear echoes as you sing. 

MORE POETRY

 

 

 

HIGHLANDERS

Photo

There’s a farm near where I live. Well actually, there’s only farms near where I live, but this one is my favourite. It’s a twenty minute walk, always quiet, and home to these gloriously wooly Highland cows. They were a bit apprehensive the first few times I tried to get close, but after a few trips they were used to me; they’re incredibly friendly creatures, and have a prehistoric presence that looks fantastic through the lens. I hope you enjoy these as much as I enjoyed taking them…

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ALL PHOTO SETS

ESCAPE – A POEM

Uncategorized, Writing

He longs for fresh pastures

as he waits within his cell,

Tasting licks of stale air,

A sandpaper tongue that dances

like a candle flame,

He doesn’t feel the warmth;

Hunger keeps him eager

whilst his brothers fall to sleep,

They’re all dreaming,

Freedom lies beyond the walls

of solid stone,

He is stood, already, there;

The wooden cage begins to fade

into horizons, green,

A vision driving onward,

He stands alone

somewhere between,

Inescapable reality

and

the safety of his dream.

 

 

JUNK – A POEM

Writing

I foraged a vision in these woods,

Below the mighty oak,

Cardboard steeples heaved and shook 

above the crumbling roads,

Tin cars drove by in their hoards

spitting poison from their pipes,

Silence severed, engines roared 

to prove the beast alive;

Skyscrapers of bottlenecks

thrust spears into the cloud,

Tides of oil broke and swept

with no-one there to drown,

Meadows capped with gold and greed

were swept with blood, I watched them bleed

a frightening flood of pain and grief

from the junkyard town;

Those flames would burn forever,

From the past until the now.