Sunset (Day 7)

Three days of red sunsets
Swaying to and fro in the breeze.

Then a blizzard.

Three days of cars groaning

In the distance

And leaves laying across

The road

Like a curtain.

Windows rattling softly

And the fire in the sky

Faraway in the corner

Of another imaginary postcard.

The moon hiding

Behind the pier

Making love in positions

That go beyond any

Physical movements,

And an colour

That hangs around in the sky

Like the roof of the world

Before overdozing on red bull.

Something that still blows in

From the wind

swaying to and fro in the breeze.

Something that still blows in

from the wind

like your kisses

until you are next in my arms. 

(Day 7 off http://www.napowrimo.net/ asked for us to write about a colour,

and I ended up writing about a red sunset I saw recently after several days

of storms) 

The Brush Off (Day 6)

When I first brushed your cat
she started rolling
all over the chair
like she put had on
way too much sun tan lotion.

She would move left
then right

north

then a forgetful south

her fangs flashing
friendly as a hand generade,

She would flick
her tail in the air
like a magician
and treat my brush
like a cricket ball.

She would throw me
the most dirty look
that would spell out murder
if I didn't stop,

the most horrific form
of torture

starting world war three

four

and five

before then totally forgiving me
when I kissed her on the head
once I had finished.


(Day 6 off http://www.napowrimo.net/ asked
for a poem about a animal and this animal
is my partner, Katy's cat who I had a war
with on Friday about brushing).

Eclipse (Day 5)

Not so much a cut
as a scratch
that stills scars
even now.

Not so much heartache
or pain traced in steps
of memories before
you were born.

Eclipsed in time
choking the air from the present
creating a red line of blood
from Munich-Riem airport
across all over the sky
leaving death smelling
in the air.

Not so much horror
but the feeling
why so many were
suddenly ripped away
from us,

and the way barbarism
is still chanted Munich, Munich
endlessly by rival fans
even thou I don’t follow them,

even now.

(Day 5 of http://www.napowrimo.net asked for a sports based
theme - I was walking through Manchester, UK where I live
and heard the events in the last stanza which prompted the rest
of this poem).

I long for Spring each day (Day 4)

I long for Spring each day
When the deep, red sunset
Covers the bottom of the skies
Like a moment of pleasure. 


I long for it every day
And your kisses
To taste like the sea
Brushing against the coast
In the middle of moonlight. 


I long for Spring each day
And to be deepIn your thoughts
From first light
To the end of each day, 
Even when it feels
Like winter


And starts brushing
Against the window
Like a scratchyBlues song. 

(NB. Based loosely on the exercise asking us
to write it as a song)

Epithalamium poem

In the middle of the maze is another wedding

Standing in the shadow of the big wedding

In the middle of the maze is another wedding

Standing in the shadow of the big wedding

With smaller attendance and less fuss

In the middle of the maze is another wedding

Standing in the shadow of the big wedding

With smaller attendance and less fuss

Almost hidden from sight under a oak tree

In the middle of the maze is another wedding

Standing in the shadow of the big wedding

With smaller attendance and less fuss

Almost hidden from sight under a oak tree

Where a soft whisper of love carries in the breeze.

In the middle of the maze is another wedding

Standing in the shadow of the big wedding

With smaller attendance and less fuss

Almost hidden from sight under a oak tree

Where a soft whisper of love carries in the breeze.

And a couple stare at each other with love swept eyes.

I know which wedding I would rather attend.

This Storm shall pass

This storm shall pass eventually
over the roof of your house
and dance over the tip
of the nearby river
before blowing a crafty kiss
at the moon.

It shall pass over the top of the moors
which will totally fail to hold their delight
and also the trees that previously
were tossed around in the wind
will do a ranting version of
Amazing Grace as a farewell.

The wind will stop making
your bones feel like confetti
and your hair will look like
an ice cream cone.

It shall stop eventually
droning missles against your window
and stop the moon
looking like a near death experience,

and take away the tears
before the sun comes back again
with a loud smile
far away
from the cackling wind.

In Dreams

I lie in bed, watching you sleep
while your nose almost takes off
like the beginning of a story
before you turn over.

I lie in bed, watching your eyelids
brush up and down
in a backwards argument
with your eyes.

I lie in bed, watching your face
move up and down
like sheep over fences
before leaping over mountains,

and finally oceans
between worlds
and worlds into solar systems

before tapping into galaxies.

And in it all

I would still love you.