CloudPillows: 2015

SLEEP

To be cradled,
By angels,
While I sleep,
In love as high,
As my darkness
Is deep,
With Holy kindness,
Rid my blindness,
And bid this heart
Ne'r need to weep.

GREAT SPIRIT

Great spirit,

Whose ghostly face

I see,

Where sound

Be heard,

Or light

Observed,

Hiding,

Just before the ear,

Secreted in the eye,

Quivering

Within the tongue,

To steal sweet textures,

Or perched,

To pluck a fragrance

From the air,

Forever young

Your beating heart,

And fleet your feet

Upon the ground,

Shifting there,

As all the shapes,

Thus designed.

There,

Outlined

By the grace

And favour

Of curious delight,

Might your face

Be found.

HUNGER

The oppressive pecking

Of narcissistic ravens,

Stealing every errant crumb,

The vacancies of their gut,

Sharpen a cruel gaze,

That wastes nothing,

In this thievish alchemy,

The cheapest paste,

Transforms

To jewels.

STAR

I remember this bright star,

Whose light bestows my liberty,

Banishing afar,

Those shadows of desire,

For this itself is my fire,

Its warm flame of fullness,

Only felt,

Through this crack in time,

An axis for heaven or hell in turn,

Where burns the lustre of idle dreams,

To ash and wholesome plenitude.

MILLSTREAM MIDNIGHT

This body,

A mere token of my presence,

As the wind whispers its advance,

A secret splash,

Another presence

In the cold, black,

Reflective calm

Of the wide mill stream,

Before me,

Now retired from industry,

Resting in its own nature,

As am I,

In this moment,

Seeing,

Without looking,

Hearing,

Without listening,

Being,

Without trying,

As the trees dissolve

Their luminous,

Silver laced contour,

With the dark sky,

Unbothered by the clouds,

Yielding to the breeze,

The stream flows on,

Silently,

Only the reflection

Does not move,

But shimmers,

Pierced, occasionally,

With the silhouette

Of a drifting duck,

Or moorhen,

Whose wild cackles

I pretend not

To understand.

The lights softly glowing

Behind drawn curtains,

In a mansion,

Dwarfed,

By the nature

It gazes upon.

The tall poplar spires,

Hushing sentinels

Against a streaking

Orange hem.

An invisible midnight,

Has come,

And gone,

Even the church bell,

Missed its passing.

I slip back,

Into my rags,

My role,

And my car,

With only the mud

On my shoe,

To remind me

Of fairy tales.

INNOCENCE

Innocence,

Sweet flower of bliss,

The perfect child,

In boundless meadow,

Perfectly wild,

Naught to lose,

And naught to gain,

Save the kiss

Of sun and rain,

Heeding not

The gardner's hand,

Nor in need

Of other land.

HOW

Softer still,

Than dandelion whispers,

A more gentle falling

Upon your ear,

Than a flight of

Angel feathers,

The mighty silence

Of listening,

A quicksilver shimmering,

Brushing that same

Sweet silk,

Glistening,

Between these words.

I bid you hear,

The eternal echoes

Of this heart,

Shapeless,

And free,

More common

Than dust,

As precious

As starlight,

Warmer than

Ten thousand suns,

Do I love thee.

As the sky
Contains its clouds,
And the ocean holds
Its breathing swell,
Gently,
We appear,
As mysterious strangers,
Different it seems,
In each other's dreams,
My home
Is your horizon,
My secrets,
Painted in your style,
Yet these are but
The sounds of silence,
The dance of stillness,
Shared,
For a while.

INVISIBLE

Our invisible self,
Both elephants,
And rooms,
The sorcerer,
And his brooms.

APPEALING

Through parting clouds,
The moon and stars,
Shift their gaze,
Warm eyes
And nodding smiles,
Beam down,
As another man's laughter,
Peals triumphant,
To the ends of time,
His brittle mask of reason,
Blowing as dust
Upon the ground.

OVERTHROWN

That knowledge,
Which would usurp mystery
From its rightful throne,
Is an impostor.

QUEST

The single request,
Made from birth,
Since suckling breast,
Till laid in earth,
Is that you foretell
Much more than I,
To spell my worth,
Before I die.

ALIGHT

There is no more such warm a delight,
Than tearing out each serious page,
And then as tinder, to set alight,
Upon the roaring flame of laughter.

CUPID

Thus it seems

That shattered dreams,

Will feel like broken hearts,

When they're but the ways

And ricochets,

Of Cupid,

And his darts.

TOUCH

Touch is a confirmation of unity,
Two sensations
Only born
When they meet as one,
A metaphor
In the language of feeling
Closest to our hearts.

MOONDANCE

My ring-a-ring-o-roses,
Jiving queen,
Whose Mona Lisa
Smile serene,
Confides her secret,
There to glean,
The invisible hides
In what is seen.

PATHWAY

It never was
The mere computation
Of cold probability,
Only for the seeing,
But sparks of fire,
Exploding,
Above a sea
Of volatile tears,
Feeling their way
Into being,
Countless years
Of new tomorrows,
Baby steps of desire,
Confounded,
By the tripwire of morality.