Fully Grown

Morden Blush

The vows, inception, but a bud,

Which Time has now released;

The years, the layers, gracious flood

Where depth of love increased.

The petals, pathways intertwined,

Your fingers in my own;

The flower, beauty, souls aligned,

A marriage fully grown.

 

 

 

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Phase

evening moom

In viewing me, you cannot see the sum of all my parts;

Your eyes can only scan my skin, they can’t discern my heart.

For as the moon in mystery is shrouded from our gaze,

What we observe in others is but one nocturnal phase.

Keep this in mind if others show a less than stellar frame –

Character is more than what one action can proclaim.

As Mistress Moon evolves each night, her beauty ebbs and wanes,

We cannot judge our neighbour’s heart by what his face contains.

Wings

young gull

 

His love was a fledgling –

awkward in its moulting,

a pupation of sorts.

His grasp of her essence

floundered in the reeds

where others moved sure;

progress screeched

and twittered, juvenile

in proportion and quality.

But true love has a way

of making a man;

where finesse was lacking,

perseverance found flight –

I still see them soaring, now and then,

where time and age cannot clip their wings.

 

The Icicle Project

ice.jpg

 

If I were

an icicle

I would melt

into your love

letting go

of the past

like tears

rolling down

cheeks

of glass

Viewed, The Obscure

bark.jpg

The ghost of a blade

slices arteries deep;

whispering words can

scream heart-songs to sleep;

invisible flames

scorch as well as a blaze;

impalpable fog

can extinguish sun’s rays.

A Nod to Punctuation

poppy seedhead

 

She’ll pick him an asterisk

or a comma or two; full

stops, ideas tied off in

neat packages, have always

eluded his dialogue,

circumvented an outcome.

.

Her dreams have become dangling

participles, unfinished

pages with Schubert’s flavour,

unable to hold hyphen’s

place – waiting, always waiting,

a watched pot that never boils.

.

Phrases, nuances, shadings

of meaning get bogged down, dragged

through the spittle of run-on

sentences; she slams the door

on the argument, her shoes

leaving angry editing

marks on the stairs. Period.