Best Alcoves Poems

Rush your waves of freedom 
pulse slow where alcoves bleed
lay gently in the grass of heaven 
amongst the humble and the meek 
  
Faint eyes lie down in blazing heat 
where the burning fades desire 
unfurled taught ropes entwine 
and boil steams still streams...

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Soul
Breaking 
Lies whispered,
Seeking escape,
Soaked in caged deceit;
Mimes mocking withering 
Posies, left parched and sundered—
Suspended beneath obscured dusks,
Dripping amidst blinding aftermaths,
Idly shadowed by lewd scars of talons 
Amidst alcoves of echoing nocturnes 
Unshackled by your sweet afterglow, 
Healing me with the elixir 
Of our dawning horizons,...

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castle bound
castle masked
masked by clouds
masked by snow
snow holding horrors
snow dancing in candlelight 
candlelight deepening the hollows
hollows of deep sunk eyes
hollows of alcoves
alcoves with writhing lovers
alcoves with frosted pink floors
floors ripe for waltzes 
floors hiding trap doors
doors open to dizzy guests
doors to back stairs
stairs to the...

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Angel Whispers

Angel whispers 
Announce
The Anointed One
In fluttering wings of Annunciation
And breathe of Emmanuel alive
In secret garden alcoves
Alpha and Omega arrival
On breath of ancient anticipation -
Pleas of Eden’s ancestry -
Align in shadows
Agonies of autumn-winter angst 
Pass away
As the murmur of the Spirit arises
Amid tender rustling
Air of...

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The House was featured,
celebrities put on hard hats
posed with sledge hammers.
It was said that the old structure
had ‘good bones’.
What it did have
were walled-in nocturnal whispers
and a resident paranoia
that stubbornly failed to lessen.

Interior decorators
re-imagined rustic hues
with a bohemian chic.
Rooms were staged
yet beneath the contemporary
the old retold...

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If thoughts be laurels then I'd be a king,
Honing skills in dark alcoves of my mind.
Like muddy waters in a rain-soaked spring,
Life without meaning cannot be defined.

This oaf would a fool for a learned man;
Lethargy my mantra, why should I work?
Begrudge me not fools -...

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It’s been a few days, but snow still lingers,
fighting rearguard engagements with time,
hiding in shadowed walks, covered alcoves,
holding out against inevitable disappearance;
only a memory of white-covered ground,
joy to some, yet a danger to many others,
brought city to standstill, except those slipping
down icy paths and roads,...

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Power to the Plough.
She sits there all used up, a shadow of her past self. The remains of her bodywork, only survive.

Rusting, and decaying into an iron oxide heap. No more use, the old gal is turning into a junk yard art scape.

Mice make homes...

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It starts gently—like a setting sun,
a tingling drift uncoiling in my abdomen,
tracing meticulous pathways through my frame.

It slithers into my mind, a weight both foreign and familiar,
a harbinger of past collapses,
whispering peril in the language of ghosts.

A whisper becomes a tremor, becomes a howl.
The cold...

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In the chambers of the caves, 
I sought refuge from all the moral forgeries 
spreading over the land. Holding my lamp aloft, 
I pursued solace in childhood alcoves. 

In the chambers of endless caves,
I explored myriad twisting pathways
longing for the playful mirth of recall.
But Cerberus...

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Beneath the evening's astral embroidery, a kiss blossomed shyly,
A spark of hope, golden and gentle, in the fabric of the fleeting.
An arching celestial, lips gently incline towards the sea, aspiring to eternity,
And retreat serene, with the measure of the waves, in a whisper of dance...

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a gray brick church with hidden entrances
surrounded with many tangled gardens
and engravings above doors and alcoves
is where I go to pray on the virtues of
love, joy, peace, kindness, and faithfulness
on goodness, gentleness, patience, and balance
seeking oneness and dignity in life ...
I kneel in the...

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The House was featured on the T.V.
Celebrities put on hard hats
posed with sledge hammers.
It was said that the old structure
had ‘good bones’. What it did have
were walled-in nocturnal whispers
and a resident paranoia.

Interior decorators re-imagined rustic hues
a bohemian nest chic-est
Rooms were staged and displayed
yet beneath the...

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Dust motes dancing through glancing light,
refracted through stained glass windows, bright.
The smell of old pine and communion wine lingers,
wax polish and roses from grieving widows fingers.
A faint smell of incense, intense in it's nuance,
old hymn books weave their soporific fluence.
The imposing lectern, Gothic and glowering,
the...

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Yes, we do share our dreams,
of course we leave out the inadmissible, 
the dark alcoves and the flying monkeys.

At breakfast I scratch in a notebook, 
doodle questions like
why I feel a duck-billed platypus 
is still nibbling my brain?
I remember then the billabong and the ‘jolly...

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