barred by light

Rag and Bone

In the insect ridden, lower drain,
of washed down strips, of futures slain
from the walls of waste there's no refrain,
just one more wave to salve the pain.

Dreams of a message,at the bottom,
a coded morsal, stained to the road,
vulturous dashes to claim the rotten,
dotted carrion of no fixed abode.

Beneath the scathing, twisted sun,
the torn umbrella demons run,
descendants of the armoured stare,
now blinded by the beetles lair.

Bleeding on the steps, in the darkest hours,
the crows leave red footprints in the stone,
scattered suits light glass empty towers,
selling farewells to the amber drone.

Arc of Eden

Green intertwined at the verve of her thigh,
the thorn-blessed rituals that curtain July,
the first of six suitors to hazard a try,
was one boot loose of the last lullaby.

Petticoat of petals that folds by the moon,
transpiring it’s veil at the breath of his rheum,
dewdrops that glisten evaporate soon,
in the darkened cathedral of her vacant womb.

Damp in the dawn drifted afterglow,
accompanying the ignited final flow,
the remains of their futile, cascading sew,
as she lies coiled in the puddles of pail-pending snow.

Stone driftwood

I untied the long-frayed rope,
and cast myself away downstream.
The heavens bore towering thunderclouds,
yet the amber sun danced upon the water.
Cut off my hands, the current took me,

hazy willows wept across my path.
The bees weaned from the honeysuckle,
far along the river bank,
as darting dragonflies laced the air with their humming.

A heartfelt silence befell,
a bubble of verse, washed away.
The ripples led me through many orbits,
each swirl an impenetrable circle,
their exhaled breaths swept through my vessel,
my words cocooned in envy, unscribed impulses tethered.

The lead-lined whispers remain chained,
as the swallowed pages flutter by,
I peer over the side and wonder,
how long can your thermals keep me afloat?

Breakfast brutality

Tundra and thunder, under the table,
he dines with the dogs of faster refinement.
Wooden legs tower into the ceiling,
of elongated juices and reasoning,
as he hears the cordon clocks canopy,
swallow the suns musty white shade.

From the checkered blue-black,
coffee cupped rim,
they fire pepper bullets down upon him,
but he catches the crumbs between his teeth,
and ceases their bangs in a cavity wreath.

Cutlery chatters and shatters his thighs,
salt glazed whispers slash his crystal eyes,
weaned weekend whiplashed goodbyes,
bled contrivance and angles, acute tangent sighs,
crushes the cream grapefruit stains,
that garnish his oversized boyhood reigns.

Grateful rind from the milk of another,
digested desire in the wake of his shover,
the forcefully sealed penny valve of his sugar,
she’s carried away.......

The drown jar

Torn in the eyes of collective taboo,
tight drawn the corset of expectation,
in the standardised shoes we’ve been supplied,
we’re mere credit purchases for window shoppers.

Red satin draped on the forbidden,
Adam’s apple entombed in bass,
all Id can do is view from the branches of permission,
as the collars of reflection,
waver to the horizon, ever distant.

Sheen emersed in epitaph loops,
behind the watchful distraction ,
of the conch-wombed salamander.
Trap doors smile as their paths are exhumed,
double edged tongues,
forked under the kissing gate,
whiplash the ankles of barefoot hikers.

I trace the breadcrumbs,
following the shortest route home,
over poisoned petals and pale invitations,
back to the power and passion,
of the top shelf jar,
the sticky fingers of mutual acquisition,
sun watching from the jam.

My blueberry seams are quashed,
volumes sealed by the bittersweet,
treacle gagged, tantrum bound.

The kitchen sinks

Un-shaved and bleeding,
her nails to the quick,
she plucks out the splinters,
from his evening stick.

Black laundry pheasants,
hang damp on the line,
mangled their wings,
in the breeze flaps a sign.

Hands that deal pearls,
in the kitchen of time,
to all the tied girls,
noose wisdom and wine.

Lost lazy Susan,
hoists up her skirt,
and rolls around aprons,
asleep in the dirt.

The sails that lead her,
in the wind of command,
are shredded and knotted,
in the face of demand.

Dandelion clocks,
dispersing their seeds,
over newly dug furrows,
and harvesters needs.

By the sound of stalks,
from the wing beats above,
she cradles bright futures,
in her warm oven glove.

The dog reflections

Who hooves centaurs?
Who stitches darkness to light?
Who twists lemons into lemonade,
and plugs volcanoes mid-sentence?

The man with the very long coat keeps walking,
pouring questions, not answers,
tactfully noncommittal, benevolence unreciprocated,
calling to all, lips closed,
listening to none, ears open.

Kinesthetic punctuations cannot carry a line,
yet words cannot colour a prayer,
faith just treads a watery path,
and all who look to him,
can only hope to see themselves,
glints of beauty in his tired eyes.
the most they can offer is everything,
the best he returns is the same.


burden of one Rag and Bone In the insect ridden, lower drain, of washed down strips, of futures slain from the walls of waste there's no refrain, just one more wave to salve the pain. Dreams of a message,at the bottom, a coded morsal, stained to the road, vulturous dashes to claim the rotten, dotted carrion of no fixed abode. Beneath the scathing, twisted sun, the torn umbrella demons run, descendants of the armoured stare, now blinded by the beetles lair. Bleeding on the steps, in the darkest hours, the crows leave red footprints in the stone, scattered suits light glass empty towers, selling farewells to the amber drone. Arc of Eden Green intertwined at the verve of her thigh, the thorn-blessed rituals that curtain July, the first of six suitors to hazard a try, was one boot loose of the last lullaby. Petticoat of petals that folds by the moon, transpiring it’s veil at the breath of his rheum, dewdrops that glisten evaporate soon, in the darkened cathedral of her vacant womb. Damp in the dawn drifted afterglow, accompanying the ignited final flow, the remains of their futile, cascading sew, as she lies coiled in the puddles of pail-pending snow. Stone driftwood I untied the long-frayed rope, and cast myself away downstream. The heavens bore towering thunderclouds, yet the amber sun danced upon the water. Cut off my hands, the current took me, hazy willows wept across my path. The bees weaned from the honeysuckle, far along the river bank, as darting dragonflies laced the air with their humming. A heartfelt silence befell, a bubble of verse, washed away. The ripples led me through many orbits, each swirl an impenetrable circle, their exhaled breaths swept through my vessel, my words cocooned in envy, unscribed impulses tethered. The lead-lined whispers remain chained, as the swallowed pages flutter by, I peer over the side and wonder, how long can your thermals keep me afloat? Breakfast brutality Tundra and thunder, under the table, he dines with the dogs of faster refinement. Wooden legs tower into the ceiling, of elongated juices and reasoning, as he hears the cordon clocks canopy, swallow the suns musty white shade. From the checkered blue-black, coffee cupped rim, they fire pepper bullets down upon him, but he catches the crumbs between his teeth, and ceases their bangs in a cavity wreath. Cutlery chatters and shatters his thighs, salt glazed whispers slash his crystal eyes, weaned weekend whiplashed goodbyes, bled contrivance and angles, acute tangent sighs, crushes the cream grapefruit stains, that garnish his oversized boyhood reigns. Grateful rind from the milk of another, digested desire in the wake of his shover, the forcefully sealed penny valve of his sugar, she’s carried away....... The drown jar Torn in the eyes of collective taboo, tight drawn the corset of expectation, in the standardised shoes we’ve been supplied, we’re mere credit purchases for window shoppers. Red satin draped on the forbidden, Adam’s apple entombed in bass, all Id can do is view from the branches of permission, as the collars of reflection, waver to the horizon, ever distant. Sheen emersed in epitaph loops, behind the watchful distraction , of the conch-wombed salamander. Trap doors smile as their paths are exhumed, double edged tongues, forked under the kissing gate, whiplash the ankles of barefoot hikers. I trace the breadcrumbs, following the shortest route home, over poisoned petals and pale invitations, back to the power and passion, of the top shelf jar, the sticky fingers of mutual acquisition, sun watching from the jam. My blueberry seams are quashed, volumes sealed by the bittersweet, treacle gagged, tantrum bound. The kitchen sinks Un-shaved and bleeding, her nails to the quick, she plucks out the splinters, from his evening stick. Black laundry pheasants, hang damp on the line, mangled their wings, in the breeze flaps a sign. Hands that deal pearls, in the kitchen of time, to all the tied girls, noose wisdom and wine. Lost lazy Susan, hoists up her skirt, and rolls around aprons, asleep in the dirt. The sails that lead her, in the wind of command, are shredded and knotted, in the face of demand. Dandelion clocks, dispersing their seeds, over newly dug furrows, and harvesters needs. By the sound of stalks, from the wing beats above, she cradles bright futures, in her warm oven glove. The dog reflections Who hooves centaurs? Who stitches darkness to light? Who twists lemons into lemonade, and plugs volcanoes mid-sentence? The man with the very long coat keeps walking, pouring questions, not answers, tactfully noncommittal, benevolence unreciprocated, calling to all, lips closed, listening to none, ears open. Kinesthetic punctuations cannot carry a line, yet words cannot colour a prayer, faith just treads a watery path, and all who look to him, can only hope to see themselves, glints of beauty in his tired eyes. the most they can offer is everything, the best he returns is the same.




glaze the gaze