The rhubarb and custard floating fish,
always call for me
- at a minute past midnight
to take me to the Night People;
deep above the violet vertigo clouds
where I join the citizens to sip starlight,
and cavort with the moon;
while the Queen hosts dice games,
that she never wins and rarely loses,
just enjoying being among her subjects.
When I bid farewell,
I sleep peacefully.
I’m currently experimenting with some different poetry styles, and this mystical-inspired poetry was originally entered into the Dai Fry competition. Although I was unsuccessful in being longlisted, I thought I would share my work with you all.
How are you all? I hope you’re keeping well and enjoying the summer wherever you are in the world (unless it’s a different season where you are!).
The strawberry patch
in full bloom
ripe with summer’s flavour
under the dewy heat
of the sun
they are temptation
a picture of beauty
yet hide an ugly truth
for the red jewels
have hidden chips and cracks
by starlings, swifts and finches
my treasure lost
Thanks for taking the time to read Treasure; I appreciate it. If you want to read more of my work, have a little wander around my site. Whatever you do, have a great day.
Demeter wailed on the autumn’s eve and all the gods could do was to plant lavender clouds to soothe her and comfort her as the sky filled pink to match her tear-stained cheeks the same tears that roared to earth as the last of the summer rain Persephone was the last to hold Demeter her bags already packed to return to Hades she whispered sweetly and secretly a skill her husband had taught her well holding her mother’s slender fingers she told her to watch for a robin and when one flew across land below to feed it with berries the colour of her heart and the robin will accept graciously so when Persephone returns she will be strong and spring & summer will be theirs alone their green dresses will sparkle with gold woven by the sun itself and they will dance as they’ve never danced before.
Thanks for taking the time to read this poem. Greek Mythology is something quite different for me to work with in terms of conveying a message and I hope I’ve done it justice.
I remember how my hand fit into yours with welcoming ease and the warmth of your skin heated my tepid fingers as we walked along the beach
the North Sea was trembling with chilling intensity – as we skimmed stones plucked fresh from champagne-gold sand they wisped over waves their light friction warming the water and calming the sea
I told a joke about blushing lobsters and seaweed you laughed because it was so bad and the frame of your face lit up the dusky sky better than the distant hilltop fire beacons could ever hope to
I’m hoping this has all has gone to plan – that some years have passed – and our hands still fit each others that the message I buried in this bottle is not lost to the tide like so many other romances and we’re reading this in the spot where we sat and snuggled that night stargazing at the peach-kissed setting sun on the horizon
– because I know that I will love you forever.
Thanks for taking the time to read this poem dedicated to my beautiful wife, Christine.