Friday, 21 July 2017

White Stone

The day smiles all along the battleship coast,
coats and dogs, impending Monday gloom.

Strangers thaw, 
dare to transmit
from behind insect shields.

Cold splinters -

the sea parts long bones 
from sockets.
Sea meets sand 
and the sun 

pours bottle green 
on the foam horses.

Wooden steps 
and the wind’s tricks -

mistaken mermaids 
in the dream of silent talking
the sea holly timings gone all awry…

Sounds fall 
on the white sheet of the bed.
She draws white stone from velvet.

The stone offers two choices -

the answer waits for the sun
and the next day rings true

Monday, 10 July 2017

Turn Of The Wheel

The turn of the wheel
a slight adjustment in the alignment
of a star green dial, brass cog, 
the notches increase
the white-moth glow

walls clad in pine
ooze resins and sap
curtains frail like cathedral flags

night presses close
a black blanket 
embroidered with stars

one tree,
solitary

before

the downhill slope begins

the wheel turns a quarter 
the wick burns
the light changes

clouds in the water
and one raindrop on one leaf

of the one tree

Monday, 3 July 2017

The Tree

The one tree, black bark, roots that can only be seen in the imagination
sealed beneath the red earth

a six petal blue flower
with a gold star pistil, and a circle of snow
in this desert landscape defies the odds,
strewn with red roses like a public outpouring
of grief - the death of someone we have never
and now never will meet and is still 
one of us because we are all one.

And there are more petals,
petals that have no colour and too many
to count, they form arches 
surrounded by gold, the gold outlines sketch
the spaces where the petals fill the void
like the festoons of red roses
where there once was a person and three
turquoise stones are placed at the foot
of the tree and three birds eat
of the fruit of the tree and the leaves
do not turn brown, here the leaves transform
from green to peacock blue and pigeon pink
and do not fall.

Tuesday, 27 June 2017

A Poem In Grey

Voices from below, metal on metal
the aroma of coffee, the beige foam
black tide and a soft breeze
waves a grey flag.

Grey flag, white dust - obscures,
paints faces and coats and no-one knows
- from this distance
just who’s side you’re on.

Dust, parched and cracked lips,
the dry sand shuffle and lurch
as an electronic sun blazes, circles
and the sky flickers.

Grey hair no more, the burgundy carpet
on a floor that’s never quite still

the ring on her finger, tyre tread pattern
silver on black, snakeskin sidewinder
forward and back

back into the past,
past with a pano-technicolour-rama 

forward and back

and the dark is full of colour

Pages

Morlock Oil

Morlock Oil
A new collection of stories available now . Click on image for details.

The Quest Of Great Celtic Mystery

The Quest Of Great Celtic Mystery
New Chapbook Available (email rockinahill@gmail.com for details)

Furrow

Furrow
Bunchgrass Press

Essential guides for the journey...