stonepoem : 365

Man,
I’m still
on broken shells
waiting for a signal
to open up the box.
Hoping, for something
that says; “It is OK -
now I understand.
it was vain to think
the world is just for me”
But all I hear is tiny
cocoon wails from a spoilt
toyless child within
the soggy wool old news.
Scrunched, but wanting,
I’m trying hard - not to tear
the bubble wrap of scratch inside.
Pulling fist and knot of everything,
to nail some loose tape slack.
But what I get is blunted,
tweezered looks - that never help.
Then I realise. Indignant,
scornful tools are not
enough.

At night, in the pear orchard -
that’s where I will swoon and roll,
warmed as a firefly - like an ember
blown beyond this life I know.
So high, the guilded memory moon
that glows as if a silvered hole,
through which my wantings rise
then fall, as I am kissed
by dusk and dustlight call.
In time, I’ll mingle with the starlost
leap unbound, in sweet-seed air.
But now, I’ll seek the honest breeze -
and fall in love with tumbling midnight
leaves, like scattered souls.

String controls

the puppeteer

pulled as he

walks to lean.

Fate dangles

a pulley cord,

to the choices

of a king.

Born under greendown farmer’s scar,
but now amongst the pinched ones -
a child of earth to man-made stone
is walking through the grey.

In cities armour, there we are
pedestrian stiff-coat bones.
Sometimes, no mirth
for what we have become,
or knowledge dare not known,
the emptiness we help to hone.

O’ child of grass-seed skies
when will you help us seek,
to gaze renewed - in curiousity,
in splendour of wonder’s
perfect way?

You are not quite
as I’d imagined -
more … tenacious,
and defined.
Noble boned,
and crafted -
in the cliff-edged
haul of everything.
Steel eyed too,
like a motherbird
on guard - guessing
tomorrow’s wind.
But you too look
weary of being wary.
Let me reassure you;
of the many waves
claiming the shore,
or of the winds
against the plume,
I am only one.

You want something. Faster, more lucid -
real moments that are sharp, not blurred.
The slippage of mortality is rushing you,
like wind to a candleflame at the start
of its final gleam and flicker.

Don’t blink or shiver, but I am with you now.
Right at this moment - beamed through the wires,
soft-breathing across the bones of you.
Relax, feel my curious spirit near - go on!
Concentrate; let your shoulders fall
and the worries roll - be conscious of
the tensions sloping down.
Here, let me help. I’m raising my arms,
waving spectral palms your way,
circling with unseen fingertips -
willing you on as you read,
sensing the electricity and flow
of who you really are,
and want to be.

Oh, she is the damnation of me.
Letting me taste from the cup,
but taking it away before I sip.
I am just a blind man crashing
through the glass factory of her,
opening box after box, but never
finding the steel-lipped chalice.
She pulls me in. Like a sand-yacht
on a windless day, hauled across beach
by the angry parent of a sulky child.
I am trying to finish a jigsaw; peeling
edges not quite straight and middle gone.
Why did she take the missing piece?