The wordsmith’s grindstone

Moleskine in palm;
its crude appearance wears timelessly,
and yet but eighteen years have worn creases in mine.

Patternless cover;
the simplicity disguises the complexity within,
for true beauty lies beneath the skin.

L’Plume in hand;
its wordy purpose so full of blotted potential,
like the creative finger I never had.

Emerald-green,
gold-nibbed and poised with majesty.
A ceremonial gesture, chosen with care.

Poet in thought.
Words come and go, abundantly so,
but few seem worthy of the page.

And so the naked canvas;
to be purchased by fools who wish to admire
something more thoughtless than they.

Dare to ponder

In thought of you,
I quiver.
These shaky hands,
excited shivers.
Dreams are sweet,
but you are sweeter.
Day is bright,
but night is clearer.

In thought of you,
I wonder.
These fantasies
I dare to ponder.
Love is fair,
but war is fairer.
Loyalty
is somewhat rarer.

In thought of you,
I can’t decide
if this is wrong
when wrong’s so right.
Just for today,
won’t you be mine?
My sweet, illicit
valentine.

English Summer

To me, love’s like an English summer,
with teasing spells of loving sun
and only then to, swiftly so,
fall beneath the growing shadow.

Then, from the dismal pelt of rain
that not so much as lightning yields,
comes forth a rookie, eyes ablaze.
But pride won’t dam the falling waves.

And soon cats hiss, dogs bark and howl
as all descend toward the ground
to douse and drown the rookie’s flame.
That torch he held was held in vain.

The monotone of summer rain
makes day by day the same mundane.
Before we know it, swiftly so,
we’re left knee deep in winter’s snow.

Yet come the darkness, we’ll remember
the beauty of our English summer.
Shadows pass, as lovers will,
‘tis but the sun that’s loyal still.

The laden truth

Is love a lie to which we must confess?
A promise held till out of sight?
These rings, these words and love affairs,
but taint the truth and riddle reason.

Can faithfulness be held so dear
when none but plan to try adhere?
The laden truth, if so enticed,
is every heart will have a price.

Departed loves

The havoc’s passed,
and just as well.
Departed loves;
they pushed, I fell.

Too many strings,
too many lies,
too many frets
and sleepless nights…

and yet this bliss is all too so.
No occupation,
I’ve thoughts alone.

I live, at least,
without obsession,
dream of love
and not perfection.
I’m wiser than before I fell;
departed loves,
they’ve served me well…

and yet this bliss is all too so.
I sleep at night,
but still alone.
No heavy thoughts,
but still I groan.
No need to call,
but still I phone.

I live, for once,
without direction.
Dreams are sweet
but lack perfection.
The scars I bare,
they’ve tales to tell;
departed loves.
They pushed, I fell.

But now to live without regret,
learn how to love
and try forget
those worried thoughts,
those troubled woes,
that caused this bliss to wither so.

No sleeplessness shall plague my nights
now tangled strings have been untied.

I live, at last,
with free desire,
and dream the dreams that take me higher.
I’ve made it through.
I’ve conquered hell.
Departed loves,
they served me well.

Pledge for tenderness

Sweeping strokes of subtle splendour,
touch this page with love so tender.

Day by day
night by night,
I miss her, miss her, miss her light.
Tonight she too puts pen to paper;
sweeping strokes of subtle splendour.

Naked,
and yet fully clothed,
I miss what I have come to know.
She held my hand
(I held her firmer).
Touched my heart with love so tender.

Let her dream the pure perfection,
dreams of love and sweet affection.
Sweeping strokes of subtle splendour,
weave these words with love so tender.

A spoken thought

Come back to me, my spoken thought,
the one I held so dear.
I cried too loud in to that night;
now all know of my fear.

Arm’s length

Your outstretched arm pulls me to you
when I have gone astray.
It’s there you hold me, at arm’s length;
it’s easier that way.

Your hushed reply, your cheeky smile,
soft whispers in my ear.
You’re armed with fun flirtation to
keep me not close but near.

You’re not alone in games of love,
for two believe I’m theirs.
Too blinded by my quick reply
to see my love is shared.

Neither unique in their cruel ways;
I practice this art too.
I’ve loved before but been ignored;
I tried and failed with you.

Their outstretched arms try pull me near;
I play them day by day.
It’s there I wait, just out of reach;
it’s easier that way.