Poetry (words)

Barbed-wire & nettles. 

It lays so still, roots drinking in the sunlight. I wonder does it feel, did it ever? The earth sticks to the tendrils as if to give hope. Maybe the rain will come and feed the life that remains here. Dappled light like a filtered dream sends warmth in shards of the purest gold. The real treasure of this land so often ignored in our search for utopia we bypass paradise. The barbed wire and nettles compete, entwined like tiny daggers fighting to the death. I slide my way through this capsular path. The sodden ground seems to fight for ownership of my footprints….my roots. 

The colours are changing. The inevitable onslaught of short days and bitter winds are obvious here in this shedding of pigmentation. It’s as if nature plans ahead that it will give up nothing to the harshness of winter, we gain so much beauty from its selflessness.

Deeper in the fallen rest against their kin, still submerged in the earth until the gales return. 

I sit amongst them and I pull my pen from my bag. To write of how I see the wonderful things nature has given me. From the path of deepest amber to the birdsong that surrounds me, I feel contentment isn’t a fore gone conclusion. Always reaching for the stars just because they’re so distant. Maybe the stars have witnessed what humanity is capable of. I have no intention of stretching that high when the blessings that fill my gaze are as beautiful as any distant galaxy.

Advertisements
Standard
Poetry (words)

Paths


I rested the weight of my world against her. My tired limbs sheltered in her shade and I felt ashamed of the conflict and greed that scarred the landscape she cherished. 
I wipe the slate clean with every word, every rhythm, every whisper I write. Just for now I own these moments however brief. Sunlight brings a shimmer to the grass as it dances in the breeze. 

I don’t miss the endless rooftops, the constant drone of shoppers. I like seeing the distance and wondering what’s there. That vast nothingness and all the dreams it holds.

I know that when tomorrow comes and the routine of daily life drags me back it’s the knowledge of these places that will fill my thoughts until the indistinct paths of timeless footprints lead me back.

Standard
Poetry (words)

Colours. 

In those sleepless hours I think of you. The colours that you left behind in my heart are constantly flowing. They are a welcomed reminder of everything good. 

There’s no remnants of bitterness, the colours have seen to that. Where coldness took root only warmth now resides. I keep nothing hidden. 

So when contentment comes into question I find the threads of our connection are enough however fragmented. Alone isn’t the same as loneliness. 

Standard
Poetry (words)

Lonely hearts & horoscopes. 

That this ink still flows onto pages warmed by the sunlight. I still have the words inside my heart. So often I’ve spilt them like a tumbling mess of insecurities. Line after line of wishful thinking

Sometimes the pages feel so rough as if all of these emotions have been soaked up, the spine cracked from the weight of this world. 

What was important to me then remains the same, but I no longer stumble blindly into rules written for another individual who came before me. 

What have we done to stop this tide? What categories do we place ourselves into for the sake of filling time. Lonely hearts and horoscopes of which I could never be a part. 

The unconditional is still bound by conditions. 

Standard
Poetry (words)

Amongst the mist

The mist clings in pockets, unhindered it rests. It fills the land with shadows of eerie moisture, penetrated by branches and spires, reflecting the colour of the sky. 

On still days when the ground sticks to my feet, I feel the season turn and leave. Its farewell letters littering my path like a lovers notebook when love is lost. 

It’s in these moments I become stuck, but willingly so. The land prepares to slumber and I am immersed here. Soon the storms will rake over this ground and my footprints will be lost.

Jumping puddles, leaping over reflections cast by time. I feel the mud splatter against my clothing and I wish I could take root, right here in the shadows amongst the mist.

Standard
Poetry (words)

Breathe again


The ground is sodden from days of heavy rainfall, soft underfoot like a carpet littered with remnants of the discarded season. Nature’s thinning expertise. 

Only the highest branches sway in the wind, still in full leaf they roar like the winter tides. Leaves float through the canopy as feathers gliding from the flock. They land to become another golden layer. 

Soil replenished as the fallen feed the roots below. Death here happens in silence, last gasps not gasps at all. Giants sleep and become a resting place for those who venture deep. 

Breathe it in, this incredible masterpiece. This self seeding wonderland, where every colour that exists flowers in abundance. Autumn will fade and shadows will grow with the low winter sun. What lies dormant here does so with unrivalled knowledge. 

Standard