Category Archives: Illustrated

Shadow Pleasures

Shadow Pleasures

Some sort of

ghost of me still

finds pleasures in

the shadows.

Confusion between Dark and Light

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There’s a confusion between

dark and light in Autumn,

sharp sunshine sometimes

warming my face, then a

sharper shower, laundry

drying in the breeze

suddenly scooped in,

something soothing on the

stove smelling

sweet and strange, my

hands hesitating to

draw the curtains while the

sky is still coloured-in and there

remains one last

glimmer of the day.

Knot

The Knot of Hands

Hands tell a tale, even in

fractured lives, in

crowded places where a

hand helps, in the

silent bed where a

hand slips over hip

seeking fingers, in the

tight knot of

life lived in all its

knotty impossibility.

 

(Image used by kind permission of Holden-and-Camille.com to whom I am most grateful and you should go visit.)

 

 

Inside/Outside

External splendours

Am I inside or

outside? Should I

attend to the meal I

carefully prepared or

gawp at the clouds and that

further beyond that

beckons with a

crooked finger that

never points to anything

definite but

merely implies?

 

Frayed

Frayed Richard Potter

I’m frayed but

unafraid of being

battered by elements

as long as one

strand will bear my

bare footprints

long enough to be

seen before the

high tide comes.

 

(Photo with the kind permission of Richard B. Potter aka The Subtle Penguin on Twitter, and go see his lovely work)

Life Curves

Life Curve

I knew behind those clouds were

stars, just the ones I could see, and

behind them stars and stars and

yet more stars

 

but so what when

life is almost but

not quite, close but

no cigar? Well maybe

 

half-empty or half-full

life curves away from

mystery to the

stone kicked, the

 

moment we have all felt when

our dreams must

give way to a

different reality.

Moontide

Moon window

Sometimes my house trembles

with the weight of the

Moon passing over

lifting it like a

tide of bricks and

dust.

Kindling

Kindling

The night’s a hearth,

the Moon its fire, and we,

poor feral creatures,

merely kindling.

Mysterious Light

Mysterious Light2

The inevitable tumbling of

Earth and Moon sometimes

involves us in

mysterious light

Doors

Doors

My life seems full of doors:

some open, what’s beyond them

done, wanting me to stay;

some ajar, tempting, though I

know behind some lies mischief;

some are firmly closed, locked and

loaded with possibilities and dread,

leaking strange scents

 

These I sometimes attempt to open:

try all those odd spare keys, get my

screwdriver out, though I

draw the line at jemmies,

hammers or hatchets, since I would

rather be locked out than

force a door I wished I had

never opened.

 

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