Like love

Cruel day when moved to hate
Those I love the most
Yet perhaps like love after all
Honesty in trying times

Advertisements

Valentine

I may try
The patience of a saint
But never doubt my love
It shines through the darkest cloud
As hot as the day we met
As loyal as the earth
Beneath your feet

My heart stays with you

No matter the path I walk
The words I say
Or the deeds I do
Amongst other folks
Where work, duty, or my own folly has taken me
My heart stays with you
Always

Conquer Fear

One cannot conquer fear
Only love something so much more
You would happily die
To save it

The gift of life

Don’t do what you hate, for this is to spit on the gift of life.
Find what you love and love living,
And this more than any rule or discipline,
Shall put you on the right path.

Object of my desire

Gooseberry poets
Eat the bitter earth but spit sweet on hungry paper,
Cloying fermented words
Much more than crushed grapes
Finally makes me tell you,
You’re all I desire.
Objective reached but never conquered
Proud sea
Let me lose myself in you

And the moon looked on…

Another inspiring challenge from Sonia – Moonstruck, another little story…Actually its not as little as it should be  – but at 564 words its my best effort at brevity! I hope you enjoy…

The raggedy face of the moon loomed large over warm night’s happy revelry. Lovers coiled and blood red wine sloshed noisily among the swaying trees.  They danced to celebrate the passing sun in shadowed time with hidden sins, becoming by night what day would judge with too much black and white.

Michael the pock faced boy darts amongst the drunken hoard. His quick fingers harvest fearlessly. The lord has opened his gates to all and Michael means to take his due from those of better birth. They won’t keep him down tonight, not whilst the moon is crowned with the smoke of a passing squall, in from the sea like a hungry crew out for mischief. He is out for mischief too, if only Sofia the pretty barmaid would return his stare.  But Sofia looks to that pleasant copse where the blacksmith’s son followed like a man possessed the redheaded stable-girl. If only that were me she sighs, between these thighs I’d make him happy. Her dimpled smile briefly dazzles a passing guardsman.

‘Ho there pretty!’ he cries. ‘I do find myself in love…’ his eyes drop, ‘with one of your finest ales!’

No love for me tonight, Sofia sighs, unless you count the thief who moons so long he almost drops his ill gained wares.

‘Come pretty wench,’ the soldier drawls,’ Serve me a beer, and if you’ll sit on my lap, I’ll give you a child to bounce on yours!’

His companions laugh as she grows pink. Let him have his frothy beer, she’ll not crawl.

‘Leave her alone!’ the thief boy declares, ‘Sofia is made for better.’

‘Is that so?’ retorts the soldier, one arm snaking around her waist as his sword snakes for the boy’s throat.

‘I’ll cut you to ribbons man. I’ll paint you red with your own blood.’ His point draws aside the thief’s shirt, ‘A haul to make a rich man blush. Get him boys!’

And so the fox bounds from baying hounds, through dancing trees and frozen humans. Time suspends its next tick. The boy rounds laden tables and pitches into the forest, floor all adorned with lovers. Shouts startle the redheaded girl from encircling arms.

‘What’s that?’ she cries as a pale shape passes by.

‘It’s just the moon’ says the blacksmith’s son.

‘Only if it’s on two legs,’ she replies, ‘and fleeing swords of dawn.’

The moon looks on with a crooked smile. The night’s entertainment has her in good cheer even as she surrenders the sky hated sister bright.  Let her have the day, when night’s in such wondrous disarray!

The prince of thieves, pock faced as the moon herself, springs free from the sheltered copse, soldiers cursing in his wake, and jumps, falling, flailing over the cliff side all in gloom. Past gloaming waves he crashes, beyond fierce rocks, and into the sea’s cold embrace.  He struggles in the deep dark. These coins will kill me, he thinks as they fall like sand beneath his kicks. Lightened, he rises like a bubble. A little skiff, white as his love and cunningly harbored, meets his drenched, desperate hands. He slithers aboard the little ship, catching breath. In his pockets nothing remains, the sea has taken all…save a single gold coin. He holds it up – this King’s ransom, this sun bright coin, and with it all thoughts of moon and night are put away.

Words…

Words can hint at depths too deep to swim,

Gulfs too wide for fragile man,

Lives too numerous for this heart

To beat them all;

Winter’s breath of sorrow,

Spring’s new born youth,

The juice of life freshly pressed

On the page for easy reading.

And yet…the void of our incomprehension calls;

Tears for that so far beyond us,

Like a child’s first glimpse of love

In the eyes of passing strangers.

Being Human

 

These cliffs of wind borne memory,

Do carry me back to you now –

The warmth of your thighs

Keeps winter at bay,

Out there where frigid white-tips,

Scull a course remote

From fire’s warm light,

Where passion’s yearning

Keeps us human still

A time for thank-yous

You do so capture me with words,

As if I were nought but clouds about the moon,

Smoke breathed out from your cigar.

Still I would be flattered to be penned by such a poet,

As life made you,

The old dowager sighed before she died.

Did he ever write of her;

A fresh bloom briefly laid upon the world,

Before greying fall from Summer’s bright regard?

She never knew.

 

 

I would like to give my heartfelt thanks to Sonia at Doing the Write Thing for awarding me the Versatile Blogger Award!

It has meant a great deal to me to be read by writers I respect. Sonia is one of those like-minded spirits and a generous and talented writer to boot. Call me extraverted but the feedback I have received since blogging has given me a whole new reason to put pen to paper.

In accord with the rules of the award here are seven hereto (possibly) unknown facts about myself:

1. I used to want to be a musketeer until my best friend at the time, a six year old called Dorothy, told me they didn’t exist anymore. Needless to say I was very upset.
2. As a child I had a cat called Albert. He was black as midnight apart from bright green eyes, had fur as soft as silk, and used to bring us headless birds as gifts. He is buried in the garden now, but sometimes I still catch a glimpse of him out of the corner of my eye.
3. I now live in a thatched cottage in the middle of the countryside. At night I can’t hear…anything at all! It’s amazing.
4. My most precious possession is a Katana (a Japanese Sword). But I rarely practice with it outside, in case I frighten the old lady next door.
5. I think my life really turned around when I was twenty-five and started practicing the martial arts seriously. Since then I’ve never had to use my fists and rarely 🙂 wanted to.
6. My girlfriend is very beautiful, refined and organised, but when she laughs she looks like a little girl and sounds like an old woman. It cracks me up every time.
7. In personality I am most like my mother. When she was dying of cancer I wrote her a poem thanking her for everything she had done for me. The last thing she said to me was ‘thank-you for my poem’.

As I have already said being read by other bloggers has made a great difference to me. It has also been inspiring reading work by other writers. Here are fifteen of my favourites. Check them out and give them all the encouragement you can and they will do the same for you.

• erbdex at apriljournals
• Elli at Elli Writes
• Eva626 at herenownotforever
• The Hook at You’ve Been Hooked!
• Holly at writerinspire
• Ina at inaweblogisback
• Fey at mixxieboomboom
• halfwaybetweenthegutterandthestars
• mywordswhisper
• Stephanie at bekindrewrite
• Becca at beccagivens
• Jamie at Musing By Moonlight
• P.V.Zim at The Earthling Writes
• The Lonely Recluse
• Pat Cegan at Source of Inspiration