Monday, 27 April 2015

Your Kiss

Sweet poison -
My protests die
upon my lips

A million
butterflies born
to die

from your kiss

Saturday, 28 March 2015

Sometimes I Swear

I am normally quite sane
but it's impossible to remain
calm, cool and collected
when one is so affected
by awful technology
I offer no apology

Sometimes I swear
at windows 8(s)
What were you thinking
Mr Gates?

Sometimes I swear
at the cookie trackers
the computer hackers
the pop-up ads
and the one click cads

Sometimes I swear
at the scoundrel scammers
the weasel spammers
the dodgy emails
the programme fails
the useless apps
and at Google maps

Sometimes I swear
 I may not appear
quite lady like I fear
but yeah
Sometimes I really swear

Sunday, 15 March 2015

That Which Is

lift the veil
of pseudo melancholy
from this dismal canvas
for the raven sings
his courtship song
and she,
freshly bathed,
preens coquettishly

she frolics
to amuse him
 flirtatious harlequin
with raven wings
to behold

Sunday, 12 October 2014

A Hot Summer Night

Standing at the window
you slip your arms around my waist
and kiss my bare shoulder
I lean back into you
and lay my head on your chest

How softly the night
folds around us
The moon, sleepy yet, rises,
grandiloquent in her
lace patterned negligee
beguiled by the gloaming

Bats, necromancers of the night,
flittering fragments
of darkness,
excite the sullen summer air
as they frolic, reveling in the gloom

The sweet smell of moon flowers
glissades through the window
carried on the chorus 
of crickets
singing to arouse the stars

A moth seduced by the
candle light
flurries into the room
throwing shadows across
the walls
as it flutters and pirouettes
around the flame

I hold my breath
You place your hands
on my shoulders
run them gently down
my arms
and cup my hands in yours

lifting up my hands
you scoop up the flailing moth
and ever so tenderly
you close my cupped hands
around it

Confined between
our hands the moth
 vibrates and thrashes
I feel the pulse and throb
of its wing beats
against my palms

I feel too the pulse and throb
of your heart on your palms
pressed against my hands
Its beat, familiar, like that
of velvet wings

You blow out the candle
and open my hands
the moth clings to my palm
blowing gently
you release it into the night

You draw me into you
I feel your heat
my heart flutters

 Encircled in your arms
 I begin to understand
the burning desire
of the moth 
to kiss the flame

Friday, 19 September 2014

Haunting Moments

snuggled together in the
reading poetry in my
making love through the
colours of sunset
you my romeo me your
scattered between the
pages of poetry
are these haunting moments
of you and me

Friday, 16 May 2014

Know That I Grieve

i have not buried you
in the past
but as a keepsake deep
in my heart
sometimes I catch
a glimpse of you
as you pass through
my mind
and my heart skips
a beat
you smile at me
like you did then
when our eyes met
and my soul danced

If you should find
thinking of me
know that I 
loved you then
truly, deeply loved
you then
and know that
I grieve the death
of that moment
in time
when I could have
told you
but instead
I said nothing
and let you walk away

Wednesday, 7 May 2014

The Poet

He runs his hand tenderly over the white sheet
picking me up gently he lays me down upon it
he gazes at me pensively, a dreamy look in his eyes
He begins to fondle me
I feel the gentle pressure of his fingers and I am
warmed by his touch
As his passion increases I feel the pulse in his fingers
Ardently we begin to move as one 
every stroke excites me
the way his hand moves fills me with exhilaration 
and every time he pauses I am filled with the
arousal of anticipation, willing his next move
Suddenly I feel his mouth warm and moist upon me
his tongue probing me delicately
his teeth grazing me playfully
Gradually he pulls away, inspired,
And I feel the pressure of his fingers once more
I feel his urgency as he moves passionately over the sheet
Then the climax of his last word and his pleasured sigh
brings us to completion
He picks me up, kisses me, covers me
and then slips me into his breast pocket
where I lie passive and content 
listening to his heartbeat 
feeling his chest rise and fall
as he reads the poetry we wrote

Friday, 18 April 2014

And The Bees Are Glad

A cataclysm of luminous gaiety
gilds the lea with joy -
I smile -
my heart is stilled and warmed

Like the languid sun that hides
behind fair weather clouds
I am weakened in awe

But my spirit has risen
with the spring wind
and taken flight

And the bees are glad