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The lovely people at Yareah have published another poem of mine. Please take a gander at this interesting site!

http://yareah.com/2013/10/2292-poetry-seedy-ballad-word-rummager/

Seedy Ballad

The bats are in the belfry
the dew is on the moor
where are the arms that held me
and pledged her love before
and pledged her love before

Had he really wasted so much time, exploring dark recesses
Scooping up shiny rocks, hoping they were diamonds
When there was magic lurking beneath his skin
He was too sick to have ever seen any other path
He never saw her keeping pace but remaining a wallflower

It’s such a sad old feeling
the fields are soft and green
it’s memories that I’m stealing
but you’re innocent when you dream, when you dream
you’re innocent when you dream

His grizzled words growl off the yellowed page
Raging yet gentle like an autumn sunset
Howling, wailing, a lament for having been born
He had felt too much, drank too much, tried to tune out too much
This day was like a revival, a celebration of sensations

Running through the graveyard
we laughed my friends and I
we swore we’d be together
until the day we died
until the day we died

Breaking out of his too-tight skin, ideas poured out like cleansing fire
The years were transfigured in his memory, grotesque
Waiting like rusty weather vanes to find directions of the wind
She sharpened her pencils and softened her heart
Helping him over and through the tangled thickets of pain and despair

I made a golden promise
that we would never part
I gave my love a locket
and then I broke her heart
and then I broke her heart

They traveled through narrow alleys and wide plains
She cradled his head when he felt tortured
He caressed her with his words, sometimes roughly
She took what he gave, he hurtled through space and time
They sipped from seedy wells and tasted the fading gaudy sunrise

It’s such a sad old feeling
the fields are soft and green
it’s memories that I’m stealing
but you’re innocent when you dream, when you dream
you’re innocent when you dream

rummaging

finally, I could write a little something
it’s starting to be like that cigarette
or that drink after dinner
or that late morning break at work
feels like the release I need
when I let the words out
of me
spilling over
sometimes pretty
like waves of lavender
or an impressionist portrait
sometimes horrid
like a haunted house
or a cubist tortured animal rendering
either way
I need it now
the relief tremendous
the writing
the words
rummaging through files
in my brain

Briny thoughts

navigating briny seas
salt encrusted thoughts and words
squinting against the searing sun
he was parched
gripping the rail
allowing himself to remember
just for a short while
the gentle rocking
of another journey
how she felt
her smooth lines
under his calloused hands
her curves in the light
as she moved in shadow
he would inspect her
from bow to stern
and feel the excitement
of setting out on adventures
the tales
the storms
the quiet of night
he craved something to quench his thirst
but would not move from port side
where he could best recall
her every move
how she handled
dipping and rising
how he commanded
with calm and precision
before she was gone
to another horizon
and he blamed
the spraying brine
for the errant tear that shone in his eye
best to hold fast
to the rail
and command
and plunder anew
since the waves would only push him forwards

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