Pale Dew

Poems from Penistone Poets Anthology..

Reverie

Her eyes deepened with curdled joy

seeping sadness towards the foggy moors

with the misty mildew trailing South

she danced and wandered along its vehement mouth.

'It makes me hurt

but I'll never give myself to you, ever

Come walk with me, over the misty fields

and promise me there

that you'll leave me be, forever.'

Pale Dew

I am not willing to breathe

you stand in front of me

the shivers sing

and bones hang thin

but oh,

you can't look at yourself

you're too weak to undress

I must have died to have begun

I come from within

from the depths of beneath

my senses inept, alert

I detect, a miserable

stench of folly

Digress

I find my way

although misled and unkempt

do I know who I am?

I know I come from death

unlaid and regressed

every part of me outstretched

wholeheartedly and repeatedly

unrecognised

Reaching for life, but yet again

deceived

by this tormented grief.

Painting by myself, for the cover of the book.

untitled II

''A womans legs can be spread as wide as the frogs. Our lips are as shiny as their skin. Theirs is green, yet ours is not..''

Seeds

Suppose there really is nothing there, suppose there never was anyway; that we never touched it, never knew it, never tasted it..then why do we feel it? That something we know is there, but that we find so hard to put into words, that is so difficult to explain, yet we connect to it, we share it – unspeakabily unsaid – but we know it’s there because it haunts us, everyday. We shy away from it, we’re afraid of it, we try to avoid it, but in the pit of our stomachs we know that feeling is right – or it feels right. That something that they can never take away from us, because it is embedded within us. It is our seed, and our seeds need to be planted – to grow and to share – to sprout and to live amongst other seeds. We just need to trust our seed and not be afraid of it, because all our seeds are the same; our seeds are true and what we need to plant and share is the truth.