"Tenderness and Lace"

Our minds bury those facts we cannot face:

one hundred ways to stay in denial.

We wrap our dreams in tenderness and lace -

then watch each one pass us by, in single file.

"To Pay the Rent" (version with one line revised)

So do I think that Sylvia was brave,

Selfish – or was she just out of her tree?



Don’t save me when there’s no-one left to save.



All is need is somebody to hear me.



So is it fair for people to blame Ted?

Why judge the lives of those we've never met?



What did Mind ever mean by "user-led"?



Why bother putting poems on the Net

Or writing them at all? I’m killing time,

But aren’t we all? It feels as though we are.

I’m always searching for another rhyme.

He drives me crazy with his damn guitar.



We’ve got a coalition government –

Still no income with which to pay the rent.

"Dancers"

vibrant dancers

in the velvet black night:

Christmas lights

"No Rhythm, Reason or Rhyme"

She cannot feel the rhythm,

and she cannot hear the rhyme.

She cries for unanswered questions,

and her confusion,

and their lies.

She cries for the pain,

the hurt deep inside,

that she has needed to disguise.

She cries for disappointment,

lack of rhythm, lack of rhyme.

Lack of reasons why.

"Winter Solstice"

sterling silver dreams

spinning

swirling

cleansing my spirit

sterling silver my hopes and dreams


and more imperfect expressions

of devotion

more heartfelt emotions


for Rhiannon

to understand

"Luminous" (version with one word altered)

I would paint my darkness

fluorescent pink:

defiantly luminous,

just like the screams

that both decorate and devour my dreams,

each scream, nightmare bright.

"Luminous"

I would paint my darkness

fluorescent pink:

defiantly luminous,

just like the screams

that both decorate and devour my dreams,

each one, nightmare bright.

"Each Morning"

Fears, familiar and

a few fresh ones

rise up to greet me

each morning:

sludgy, grey-brown fears,

unsettling my soul,

confusing my mind -

disorienting, disturbing,

distressing,

unharmonious.

"No Stars"

My sky is black -

no moon, no stars -

and each betrayal

leaves its scars.


No reason left

to carry on,

without a single star

to wish upon.

"Never To Be"

grieving for

each dream

unfulfilled

stillness, silence - my sanctuary

looking towards aspects

of the future

but warily

and wearily

jaded - inspiration, aspirations faded

maturity - maybe

lessons - okay, fine

but sadder

older and much sadder


and never to be

quite the same again

"Sepia Silence"

the sepia silence

of fading memories

unending sadness

jaded heart


dreams, so cruelly, ripped apart

ripped apart


and now

left with the aftermath

and the necessary melody of

sepia silence

"Winter Sun"

Hope is

grey-blue skies,

warmed by

winter sun.

"Dissolve" (version with one word altered)

those final

dusky pinks

now dissolve into grey

as inspiration fades

and the last grains

of almost-hope

slip slowly, painfully

away

"Unrefined"

My expectations can't go any lower.

You're already talking, cellars of the mind.

Curtains up. Perform. It's time to show a

view of disappointment, unrefined.

"Darkening Afternoon"

Autumn's warm tones

now lie, damp upon grey pavements -

the neighbourhood's trees, naked once again.


Vibrant umbrellas

hurry through

the darkening afternoon,


seeking the alternative warmth of

radiators, and welcome cups of tea.

"Only The Horse"

There was an eclipse,

and a violent storm, on the afternoon

that Lucy Lightfoot disappeared.

Only Lucy's horse ever saw

the white light,

as lightning struck the steeple

of the little church.

He was tethered

to the rusty gate -

and, of course, the poor animal was afraid.

Lucy was inside the church -

by her lover's side.

Her lover - from a former life.

She had visited his tomb

each day since she was twelve,

presenting flowers, whispering secrets

and words of passion,

to his wooden effigy.

She must have realised

that the time was right,

that she and her valiant soldier

would finally reunite.

But only the horse ever saw

the white light -

and no trace of Lucy Lightfoot

was found, beyond that afternoon.

"The Legend of Lucy Lightfoot"

At seventeen, so radiant,

hair raven black, eyes emerald green -

the local lads, they just don't stand a chance.

Lucy's heart is in the village church -

the love of her life, a wooden effigy,

of a soldier who died long ago,

before Lucy's birth.


She has visited the tomb

every day since she was twelve.

She brings her lover flowers,

tells him details of

her daily life:

living on a local farm,

with her father and two brothers.


Then, one day, Lucy is riding

her beloved white horse,

in the direction of the little church.

She gets caught in a storm,

so fierce. The skies turn black.

She must reach the church,

her sanctuary from the violence

of the elements.

She tethers her terrified horse

to the rusty gate,

and soon she is safe, with her lover again.


Lucy's horse was later discovered,

frightened and alone.

But where did Lucy go?

No trace of Lucy Lightfoot was ever found -

although...

"There Has To Be"

beyond the sadness

beyond the feelings of rejection

beyond the stress

emotional distress


beyond grief

there has to be


there has to be

"Crisis after Crisis and Friends Without Knives"

Struggling with crisis after crisis,

day after endless day:

physical and mental health

deteriorating steadily.

Family and friends might casually

knife you in the back,

at any time -

and the few doctors and

"care co-ordinators"

who really care, move on.

What can I say?

But all I can do

is to keep going,

anyway -

and be grateful for the

occasional

knife-free friend.

And, for the record, most of my best ones

have feathers.

"Hurt"

this hurt remains

eternally

and will not pass

and will not fade

"Night"

Hypnotised

by the final flames of hope,

I watch as each one flickers

and expires.


I then wait, in silence, for the

familiar darkness

to surround me,


knowing that I will always

belong to the night.

"Dying Illusions"

confusion, such confusion

the pale, failing light

of dying illusions


too late, too late - so

duly seal my fate


another chapter's

so sad, too bad conclusion


the death of my final

illusions, delusions

"Home"

switch off the lights

every single one

even the sun and moon

I am going home tonight

"Bigger Picture"

They accuse her of failing

to see the so-called "bigger picture".

Maybe she does see,

but simply remains unimpressed,

viewing the "bigger picture"

as an even bigger mess.

"Street Lights Reflected"

ebony night


street lights reflected

in puddles


and still more rain

steadily descending

"Harsh Lessons"

The world is no less beautiful,
but life has taught her
harsh lessons - and some days,
it feels almost impossible
for her to trust
another human being.
Yet, the changing skies,
throughout these days
and nights of sorrow,
still make her feel
something. More than merely numb.
Cold winds can remind her
that she's still
alive: a real person,
in spite of how
she has often been -
and is still - treated.
Nature has her own
form of harshness:
moments of apparent
cruelty, to rival
that of the human race,
and she too knows
how to cause
devastation.
Yet, Nature is not
sadistic and manipulative,
not in the same gratuitous way.
The trees, and every creature, great and small -
all are as beautiful
as they ever were -
and even though she still
feels like
letting go,
she doesn't.
And she still cares about
the other people too,
even the ones
who have hurt
and rejected her,
and possibly always will.
She thinks about,
worries about them -
wishes them well every day.
Maybe sometimes,
some of them
even think of her as well,
and hope that she's okay.

"Time" (for Stacey, who died on 10/11/10)

Time moves on, not caring

who enters or leaves our lives.

It's been two years now

since you died.

Time drifts on, regardless -

and each fresh sorrow

leaves its scars.

One season dissolves into

the next -

one year becoming yet another.

The happy moments will continue

to come

and go,

as time moves on -

mechanically,

not really caring

who enters or leaves

our insignificant lives.

"Sanctuary"

There is a bridge across a stream.

Descending leaves are golden-brown,

creating a tranquil, autumnal scene:

a spiritual sanctuary,

place of pure peace,

where eternal dreams

can flow.

"Preserved"

emerald summers

of vivid emotions

preserved eternally

in the sepia tones

of her selected, collected memories

so beautiful

sacred

simply unforgettable moments

"Display"

Ebony darkness

weaves her own melodies

into the silent sky.


Beautiful memories

light up the darkness,

each one exploding, like a firework -

each one, duly expiring.


Then those final colours fade,

as the display draws to a close -


leaving me wondering,

in the empty aftermath

of calm skies:

Wasn't it all just an

exquisite illusion?

Is anything real?

"For Other Survivors" (version with stanza breaks)

My soul absorbs

the pain of others.

I don't think that I

am the only one.


I feel amazed

by the strength

of others.

I feel inspired

that others survive

and shine,


and face their own

new days.

"Space of a Year"

It's that moment

when you realise -

or fully admit to yourself -

that you've expended

so much emotional energy,

on people who might

just give you a

swiftly passing thought,

maybe once or twice

in the space of a year.

"For Other Survivors"

My soul absorbs

the pain of others.

I don't think that I

am the only one.

I feel amazed

by the strength

of others.

I feel inspired

that others survive

and shine,

and face their own

new days.

"Holding On"

It glistens, faintly silver,

on the horizon

of my mind.

Hope? Is it hope?

I don't really know.

Is it home,

my soul's true home?

The view is unclear,

and somehow,

I am still here -

still in pain -

yet, holding on, day after day.

"Another View"

There has to be a future,

although I cannot see it yet:

a peaceful place,

my own spiritual space,

some destination,

a reason

to go on.

I simply cannot see it yet.

"I Wish That I Knew"

I wish that I knew

where to go -

what to do.

I wish that I could cope.

I still cling

to these fragments of hope,

even though

I don't know what

to do -

where to go -

how to cope.

"Where Do You Hide?"

Where do you hide

from everyone, even yourself?

Where does hope still reside?

Is there anything left

inside?

Why is everything falling apart?

Where do you hide?

How can you heal

from such overwhelming pain?

Mend a broken heart?

Where do you start?

"Shattered Dreams"

The silent sanctuary

of her spirit

has shattered,

along with the essential delusions

that helped her to survive

for as long as she has.

"Didn't Really Want"

I didn’t really want to take

the "morning-after" pill.

They made me – parents, doctor.

It haunts me, still.



Being raped is enough,

when you are seventeen



and actually a virgin.

You are never clean



enough – not deep inside –

not after that.



To take control, you starve yourself,

but you still feel too fat –



and even thin feels wrong.

You turn to drink instead.



You take crap from useless blokes,

who insist on messing with your head.



You do boring office work,

pretend that you can cope –



which, of course, you don’t.

You’re dangerously low on hope.



You wonder why I wash

my hands until they bleed?



Why I "choose" the childless life?



Are my words uncomfortable for you to read?