All good things

One after the other, twitter prompted a string of bright poems today.

If you watch the swallows’ dance,

and look with unclouded eyes

into the morning sky, the rose’s heart,

If you can see the miracle of life

In a drop of dew balanced on a petal’s lip

perhaps you will see me.

*

My breath withheld,

a leaf dancing between fire and water,

I wait to catch your eye,

your hand,

a silver thread,

hanging from a star.

 *

All good things

smell of the sea

or stars

or sailboats

or taste of pines

or red

or morning sun

or lie curled and sleeping

within the reach of my hand.

*

Bathed in silver light

the world is soft,

full of dancing shadows

and the excited cry of the fox,

blossoming like the pale stars of windflowers

when the sun’s voice is silenced.

Cats, stars and the night

This evening’s clutch of twitter prompt poems. Funny how they follow a theme.

Do you see me

through the cigarette haze

as you pour another glass of champagne?

Am I a ghost

that hangs in the rafters of memory?

 

Is dawn breaking or night falling?

Time stopped when you went away,

the sun and moon,

guttering candles

compared with your face.

 

A cat in my shadow stalks

with eyes of fire.

A light at your window breaks,

I see your silhouette

and wait, cat-like,

for the dark.

 

Watch the stars fall and wish,

for all the things you’ll never have,

like sun at midnight,

a crown of stars

and me.

 

Cat sleeps with half-open eyes

and dreams of birds

that shine like stars

in the coping of heaven’s roof.

Night wind and the fox

 

In the dawn damp

at the forest’s edge,

a red shadow glides.

Bird hush breaks

at sunrise

bright as the brush

of a sleeping fox.

*

March

and mist blows in from the sea

coating my lips in salt

and the electric tang

of unseen vastness.

*

In the night,

a cry,

a bark wilder than any dog’s,

and the sterile concrete of the streets

shivers at the sound.

*

There is a window in the wind

that blows across the river.

Look carefully and you will see

wild swans flying home.

Evening stars and falling petals

Twitter poems from a fruitful series of prompts.

It is lonely in the depths,

the murk that swirls too thick

to see the many others there,

and the glimmer at the surface,

beckoning.

 

Is there really light

at the end of this dark road,

or is it wishful thinking—

like seeing eagles

where there are only crows?

 

Evening folds its wings

with the hushed tones of falling roses.

We sink into night

beneath the silent glitter of the stars.

 

Is it fate,

whispered in the breeze,

that brings me here,

to hold out my hands

and catch the petals as they fall?

 

Caught in the perfume

of desire’s dark wings,

pulled by the tide into unsounded depths

I reach out my hand to you.

 

Hand in the water

catch the ripples

paint my hair with seafoam.

Sing the songs of merfolk

before the morning comes.

Tears and Tides

Today’s haul of twitter poems from a handful of twitter prompts.

Photo©Mike Pennington

Though you comb the sands forever,

you will never find

a single tear of mine

among the gentle waves.

 

So many tears shed

in the night, at your leaving.

At sunrise, only crumpled sheets remain,

like sand ripples

carved by the ebb tide.

 

Footprints to the sea,

a couple enlaced,

run across the wet sand

into tomorrow,

fast as the horses

of the morning tide.

 

Round we come, full circle

to this place we once loved,

but our lovers’ footprints dance,

pale ghosts, beneath the indifferent waves.

 

 

Dim the stars in the sky

and leap into the dark.

Take my hand

and I will show you wings.

Dive with me

and we will gather treasure

by the light of black pearls.

 

Buds and stars

The lighter twitter poems from yesterday.

Sun, coax the buds,

break their hard-shelled coat,

let warm fingers

pry apart pink petals,

shed spring perfume,

renew this old year.

 

 

Underfoot, blossom,

mingled with grit and dust waits

for cleansing spring rain.

 

 

Moulded from spring clay

and touched with sun,

root and burgeoning branch

create blossom beauty.

 

River mist ascending,

smoke on glassy water,

burning bright

in brazen sun,

veiled with memories

of deep sea pearls.

 

Twilight,

twixt the two lights,

one blazing sunset,

one of softly creeping darkness,

dusk, dawn

and in between,

the light of stars.

 

 

Sea, gulls and the river

Becalmed on this sea,

I watch the sky for clouds

and long for the wings of a gull,

but see only reflections of happiness

among white-capped breakers.

 

Tide flows

bearing gulls,

tossing their feathered laughter

over rushy banks,

vying with tidy blackbirds

for mud-born grubs.

 

What is the colour of the rain

the dewdrop falling,

the ripple of the stream?

Is there a name for the light

that falls on spring blossom?

 

Like mercury,

sunlight slips over river water,

scattering silver,

quick and bright,

on the rolling tide.

 

On the bank,

lapped by the tide,

the kingcups wind about the sedge

and fallen boughs.

I wonder if I dare

to brave the rippling wavelets

and join them.

Shadows over the sun

Shadows over the sun

fill the world with deep dark,

holding back the gold,

growing cold shade

where light once was.

 

Cold swells

and cracks with frost

the tumbled stones,

and in bare black branches

a bird chirps,

frozen his song

in the winter night.

 

Time is broken

and nothing holds the falcon,

turning in the sky.

Marching feet stir the ashes,

drum away

the last dusty moments.

 

At the last,

in the dry wind

blew not ash but feathers,

and beating white wings

carried the heart of the world,

through the gathering dark,

to the isle of apples,

and peace.

Was a time

A sequence of twitter poems on a theme.

 

Was a time

when the sun poured liquid sweetness

just for us.

Was a time

of light and brazen beauty

before this fading into dusk.

 

Was a time

when we wore starlight in our hair

when moonbeams were silver fishes,

we caught them in our hands

before the black star turned.

 

Was a time

when you were here,

a heart’s beat away,

now gone,

this time,

too far to catch,

these wings

too frail to cross the deep.

 

The words I couldn’t say

A string of verses on a thread of twitter prompts.

The words I couldn’t say,

I hear them in the wind

and in the falling leaves,

but they mutter loudest in the raindrops,

dripping from the eaves.

 

I let you go because you wouldn’t stay,

the ties that bind all came undone,

floating like silver gossamer in the breeze.

 

You wouldn’t give me back my heart,

A keepsake, you said with a tragic air.

But you will forget, let its fluttering die,

a dull brown bird

with no song to sing.

 

Should I have known and raised my guard,

a carapace of tempered steel,

against the sweet words and soft looks you shot my way?

Can any heart become stone at will,

and the song in the blood a battle cry?

 

Had I held myself aloof

and turned away the fiery flow,

I would not have known the pain of broken dreams,

but nor would I have seen blue horses running,

and firebirds paint the sky with flame.