Shama

Sitting on the banks,
nay the frame of a river,
waiting for the dust to settle
on such a grievous and ill-mannered
alliterative appendix,
I once promised myself
I’d not give in
to the sorry belief in ghosts

But here they arise
wraiths out of the mist
with bowed buckled knees;
buried in the resting place
for remembered ribbons
Wearing wreaths to match
the twigs and leaves
caught in their long black robes

And gargle it goes
the sound of my voice as it tries
to make its way across the sands
to meet her

Gargle-gargle-gulp;
the strains of a
boy drowning in the river
cast there by those
who refused to acknowledge
the creases in his brow
Or the breadcrumbs
he had left in his wake
to lead him back to the very same spot
where his torment first began

And the queue refuses to move
Great mounds of dirt
collect on the toes,
wings and deck of the ship
Oh, how far the moon seems now.

Hat Stand

The endless line
of wingless eagles
continue their
Dodo march

Arched backs falling,
little slack lemmings,
tumbling with disdain
before my eyes

And back sodden,
soaked, pressed firm
beside rock
Toes dug in
Heels soggy with algae

From here I can see
your flower-proof brolly
painting flames
abroad the horizon

Barrel

Accompanying the return
of magpie breath and feathers
I surround myself
with sallow squares
and careful circles of chalk

Ears pricked
Fingers reaching,
long and black,
across an eyeless stitch
flanked by candles

And the turning cogs,
twisting wheels and roots
Hoping for that cheerful clink
caused by paper against palm

Hang

Too long spent treading water,
head bobbing up and down
between passing ships
and an array of distorted
messages in bottles

It was here that I realised the time to let go
and sink down into the depths of you
had arrived

But fear,
night terrors,
a gang of them,
their voices calling out like whale song
beneath the surface

Try as I might I cannot shake the feeling
that this shade is not a ghost at all
Rather a permanent stain,
the spreading of ink
across an otherwise pale blue
canvas

And it always arrives with the taste of decay
that dull screw
of a fragile hobgoblin
so pensive and grave

Lullaby

What leaves may fall,
what tunnels window fare
The sheet we use
for propping mirrors
paired

One knot to tie
the sweeping sky
and tall
With wings to carry
circles, feathers, all

Askance aside
Now nestled
pillow blush

And oh,
you look a picture
lying there

Ring

Confidence in
candle wax
and salt

Face to the sky
declaring it
in threes

A pair of spirals
twirling
at my feet

My uttered plea,
when facing the above

To light
and guard
and keep
the nameless sure.

pavor nocturnus

And
there is darkness here
Thick,
not even stars

Siege to the castle!
Siege!

The parapet has already been taken
and I can hear them bringing down the doors

Tumble
walls
tumble

But I will guard
the cornerstone
with my heart

Bolide

Standing on the brink
of a thousand and one
tiny explosions
I witness,
beyond the mist,
the shade of a shadow
performing its most wonderfully
piercing act

And darkness descend!
But for a pair of
chilled silhouettes;
synchronous steps,
arms flapping,
beating about like wings

Oh, to the moonlight
I return!

Deluge

Curving up the tree trunks,
peppered with letters and vines,
are pebbles cast across the skin
where blushing ripples side

And sleep will not descend here,
not as I know it should
The wrinkled sheets, they writhe and burn
Oh siren in the woods

Her shriek will pierce the silence
beyond the shallow glow,
of windows borne by shadows,
where dimming lights are low

So overflow, banks overflow!
Overwhelm and overflow!
Build and burst from coast and shore,
these blushing seeds we sow

Squinting

Gentle inspiration
it has been so long
since I last greeted you
at my door

I am still alone up here
none the wiser,
unable to explain
exactly what it is
I want to sprinkle
on this window ledge

And,
though I have been sent
twinkling tingles
through distant
moonlit burrows,
beyond the daybreak's
curving stars

I still lie here
awake at night
pondering collapsible
sunrises
and endless mornings
bereft of tears

And spells
a pride of them
dozens
a swarm
But never enough to express
how much I love you

Wordsmith

Over the hill it comes
accompanied by
the familiar antagonist
Looming large
in thick
shadowed molasses

Jealousy.

And so I sit
Face in knees
arms wrapped
solidly around
the splintered shins
of little me

Insecure
and torn apart
Beneath great protector’s
fiery sack
of fortitude and strings

Who looking out,
with murmurs deep,
draws his arrow
feathered bow
and flies

Abroad horizons
and carefully loosened
cloudy skies
To strike it down

To. Strike. Him. Down.

Bringer of indelible dirt
Knock
him
over

Until the sky
is torn asunder
Until the ghoul
will not return

Detached

Tubular heart
Cast-iron brackets
Beside my redbrick wall of ascension

I have never seen you before

Don’t recognise the colours you draw
From the tunnels inside
The semi-circular cracks across my veins

Spillage

Two cracks beside
destructive fear
of mine

A hope
reverberating drone
of gentle hums

We savour
each and every
tattled tale

And risk
the bitter moments
by degrees

Invest our
broken bones
on borrowed time

And expect it all
to happen
out at sea

But what we found
was selfishness
and greed

Wishbone

Oh cloudy sky
stay true
and ever blue
upon my eye

For when the
window opens
in she flies

Verb Pronoun

The gap between
the frosted sill
and pane
Above the seat
where stormy clouds
are formed

Below the lakes
which spread and bend
and churn
There sits a heart,
recumbent
tattered veil

But break it
crumbles when it
hears your name
And moments run,
like raindrops
in descent

The ghosts within
are nameless,
but a rose
She reaches through
the gloomy
looking lines

As faces press
like fingers
on a glass
“For you the sky,
I’ll bend and break
and curve”

With secret
love springs flowing
by design
From here to
Shallow Window,
we entwine

▲

A death of sorts
Two chipped fingernails
beneath the pillow
you gave me
last summer

You know the one,
duck down
And a picture of your
University
boat-race
across its bow

I’ll make a believer of you yet
I’ll leak and tear,
And cast it all out to sea

But by then
who knows?

Perhaps the realisation
that, like every good
garden,
this love needs
to be tended with care,

will have you swollen
and calling
my name.

M I double S

Lorelei,
I hear a whisper
on your breath

And the void
you left behind
is forever untying
all
my
ribbons

Down below
the confusion
is impossible to deny

But up here
reflection
is the only perspective

Dressing down,
a lesser sense of self
Faceless and hiding,
social constructs cast aside

Pressing the mortal mass together
Words uttered
from two lips twice denied

And
how can the sun dare to shine
when you are not here?

Stop! Thief!

Somehow our latest dialogue
has me feeling that you deserve an apology

It would seem that my snowballing designation
often storms across the toes
of the people I love

But God forbid I halt its roll

Alma

Gazing through thirteen;
greeted by an unsettling blend of darkness and light

Eclipsed by shadows,
hidden faces flanking Shallow Window’s lantern-lit resident

Scribbling Scrybe;
through tides and streams of consciousness

As fingers work a mile a minute,
at dawn I find my *//cuts

Fictional crude bandages
Mirrors and portholes and doors
Here where dark matter collapses
Hollow murmurs and misty shades of Blue

Sitting at the panes;
they still don’t let me sleep

Gazing through thirteen;
greeted by an unsettling blend of darkness and light

At dawn

Timing

My fingers felt so light at the dawn
They could weave a thousand dresses,
on a thousand little rotating hips

Eternity’s threshold refused
to open up to me
the garden of earthly delights

So my freehand prose crept
and crawled up the wall,
like so much leafy ivy