Twixt Dusk and Dawn

As daylight fades and darkness climbs,
the night time beckons, it's then I find
a time to rest through deep nocturnes,
finding peace 'til light returns.

The cold night air's relentless ease,
brings solace back and will appease
the ghosts that ail our waking life,
they no more bring discord and strife.

Our endless search for quiet respite,
is found deep in the darkest night,
whilst sleep and slumber give repose,
until the dawn and cockrel crows.

And on that velvet blanket black,
a shimmer, glimmer, stars that tack,
and light the sky as diamonds scattered
restoring all that really matters.

Daylight returns to test our will,
brings up the curtain on our ills.
A battle new each day to face,
met with dignity and grace.

For tight closed eyes, and open hearts
give rationale, where hate departs.
So sleep, so rest, avoid the frays
and usher in the best of days.

Intended

For him, it was her
from the start.
She swung from the strings
of his heart.

For her, it was him
just the same.
Her love for him
coursed through her veins.

For him, it was her
life or death.
Her loveliness
held in each breath.

For her, it was him
he should know.
The love in her eyes
had that glow.

For him though
the words were unsaid,
endlessly rehearsed
in his head.

For her, all she
wanted to hear,
was that he
would always be near.

But a stumble,
a stutter and fall,
leaves nothing
for no one at all.

Just Like Days

The river tows me down the line,
Mason - Dixon - Siegfried - time.
The rivers' flow an endless road
searching for the one way home.
In a way I'm like a river,
I'll never die, I'll live forever,
from stagnant stills to rapid's rage,
the waterfall, meandered fade.

Reading Nietsche just for kicks,
junk drunk punks and alcoholics,
bottle blinding Kings and Jacks,
those lonely lost boy Kerouacs.
If I sit still I'm gone forver,
I can, I can't, cannot be tethered,
I need the open road and flow,
the summer sun, the winter snow.

Open books and closed up cases,
vacant smiles and hollow faces,
empty eyes and empty laughs,
the same style smile in the photographs.
You never change, you keep on moving,
never know just what you're proving.
Put up the fight, adopt the stance,
leave before your final chance.

I only hate one day you'll see,
the pleasure, pain and sympathy,
the open doorways that you locked,
the fire escapes that you left blocked.
And yet I follow, blinded by
your hatred burning in my mind.
You'll never shake me, break my ways,
it's solid, life-like, just like days.

Those Blue Boar Days

Two streets from home, the taxi slows,
my choice to linger, stray and wait.
The urge for elsewhere festers, grows,
the inevitable remains delayed.

Slow steady steps though sharpened air
that bites the skin, yet clears the mind,
if destiny's not cast in stone
could it be shed, be left behind.

This dry stone wall of Millstone Grit
immersed in orange street light glow,
I pause to think, find wits to pick,
enveloped by a swirl of snow.

As darkness seeps through skin and soul
to blacken out the flickered light,
despite all aims to fight this toll 
that pulls into the endless night.

It strikes me there and then, so clear,
what was once hoped could never be,
that love and life meet death and fear,
if only we could ever see.

The long lost prospects, dreams of youth
once seemed so vital dimmed to none.
With passing days, I see the truth
those Blue Boar days are dead, and gone.

(Nineteen Eighty Nine) On the Tiles with Mr. Yeats

Warm summer evening
nineteen eighty nine,
almost guilty of losing
myself in a time,
when I held a girl close
and with a voice clean and clear,
these words that I stole
whispered into her ear...

"Had I the heavens' embroidered cloths,
enwrought with golden and silver light..."