Long Unfallen Poems

...the village shivers   a hive of restless souls
skin pricklin' with anticipation
as costumed runners fixin' to gather — hearts a-thrummin'
              ...

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The Creed

A crested lark rises in to the window 
	In the bittersweet rendezvous of a vow,
	And my fear passes, 
For it is in the free fall of our landing,
	its chord colliding into the road,
The sweet...

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Autumn day's goldenrays seap through heaven's gentle blues
                    Shading, tangled leaves fire colors,autumn's unfallen few
It's flowered...

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Rolling fields.
  Golden glow.
    Shine brightly to my soul.
Fresh.
  Free.
    Fallen.
      Forever in your hands.
Earth kissed feet.
  Hardened hands working tight,...

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bewildered, i try to find a chapter in which a comforting compromise is inevitable
awestruck, i seek the majestic bookmark that restores that definitvive warmth to my hypothermiated soul
i need your warm hand on my heart...

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One week ago, a suicide bomber, a murderer took many lives at the Manchester Arena 
The police are hunting down his accomplices to subpoena 
It seems that the papers have nothing better to do than...

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I was given wings to soar from the Holy City—
To visit worlds on high.
An angel escorted me,
To a world where joy doesn’t die.
The inhabitants knew no sin;
Their faces shone like the sun;
The grass of this...

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Here I sit amongst the long grasses and the reed,
in a solitary place, where my breath is freed,
on an Indian Summer's evening on the lake bed,
autumn has come, yet the warmth has not fled.

Blazing orange...

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Yesterday's splendour couldn't suffice,
It wasn't perpetual, 
It couldn't be carried over,
The dawn of a new day 
sets off a new order,
A new chronicle of events, 
Atonement has to be made for the day, 
The glorious...

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The brewing storm stirs up
       chasing men on foot
        chasing chariots with wheels
        i sit...

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Crawling along in my loneliness,
Falling away from all of this.
Is this the way that life's become,
Is suffering a way of life for some?
Inside my soul it has grown cold,
I have nothing now which to hold.
Where's...

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I found a poem
I took it home
It wasn’t mine
                         ……I knew.

But...

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The Soul art in poems is the wordsmiths
With sun or lamp, in light or dark awake
The chore of a doom word master locksmith
Is to capture, enchain all lone heartache

Conjure through words and sounds, magic, a...

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