Shivers – a poem

Shivers, twitches, a gamut

Of activity, restless cut raving

Writhing, yet colourless,

Steeped in heavy sundries

That hold no meaning, empty

Vessel waits for action, waits

Forever for a fulfilling absolution.
Eyes met unwillingly, soft

Shivers rippling, undulating waves

Tickling and twitching, oft

When one lays to rest

Yet what might be saved?
A line here, a fragment there,

And shivering twitches rave on,

A strong will stripped bare.


Hazy Eyes – a poem

Tired eyes, hurt eyes, hazy lies the day.

This the sick light glow of malaise,

Slow syrup, tearing tissue paper,

Ennui mild beside a good coat’s loss.
A city so well lit should not lie

So dormant, so very dark.

Never dreary in decorous neon,

Yet extra planar light barely peeps in.

Consider this your invitation

To the abyss, a station

Awaits, as does a carriage

With doors of light, wheels of gold.

Will you this offer accept?

Step inside and see

The real world as it flows

Into steadily seeking eyes.

The Chairmaker’s Soul – part 2

A Red the lurid shade of rotten roses dyes

Bloody the sun’s sinking skies above wind swept dock streets,

Dreaming lazedly about curious shoppes along lanes twistingly followed,

And what rode in on strange winds brought from sleepy seas.
Amongst their draughty alleys he made

Enquiries of all craft purveyors wizened

Or young, with their secret sigils

Or those particular altar finneals.
No joy there among those odd stores

Of needful things and biscuits buttered,

By knives far sharper than want sheepish spirits

Of mortality, grown and mortally breeding.