POETRY VOL III

We See In the Dark

Do not fret the hues of sunset.

Demise to the mind’s eye at sunrise.

For the muse there can be no greater lark,

Than those who see better in the dark.

In the sun I cannot cross the River Tyne

Nor escape the calloused hands of Father Time

To work away blindly in the day, I could leave no mark.

Not I, who can see better in the dark.

Lies arrive with a grin at sunrise.

The hum of TV screens mask the merciful cries.

Rising at dawn to the song of birds, triumphant oligarchs.

“We must not trust those who see better in the dark.”

The wars waged and the fire alight

For the sake of reason, we who create must take up the fight.

The few fall to the many and face the orders barked;

“Destroy all those who see better in the dark!”

With the creative mind slain, watch as the sun itself turns away.

A world left alone in tyranny, dark and dismayed.

A colorless world, hungry hearts and empty heads cry out into the night, “Help, Hark!”

“What happened to those who see better in the dark?”

Living Full

In the car I sit, waiting patiently for her to come out.

My heartbeat’s eager, but my mind is cast in doubt.

Think quick, think fast, find something interesting to say.

I am young and she is everything, tomorrow is just another day.

Tomorrow arrives to the blink of tired eyes.

Greeting the sun, we lay together, entwined.

Love invades, not burning at dawn, but creeping in the night

No relief nor reassurance, only unspoken mournful fright.

My days of cheap, fleeting passion sink away and fade.

Our families knew we were doomed to bend the knee to Adelaide.

I’ve never known anyone who made it, but maybe we would have a shot.

We decided, together, to take our separate strings and tie the knot.

Children of divorce, we tend the garden with no knowledge of the spade.

The storm clouds had always been on the horizon, now it rains.

Our passions rage, tempers flare and our affection wanes.

Then a child, an unexpected blessing to mend the rift.

The responsibility falls on us, dread not the burden, but cherish the gift.

Could we do it? We would try. Our child would not be alone in its growing pains.

While living for another, the years soar by.

Sacrificing our youth and clipping our wings so that he might fly.

I now look to my wife differently, not my lover, but my closest friend.

A bond which will never break and would scarcely bend.

Our boy has found love of his own, we let him go not with a mournful shout, but conflicted sigh.

He is gone away; we are older now and the days pass slowly.

I’ve retired comfortably and devote my time to my only.

Too soon, as it is always, the illness made its way through her.

The diagnosis told us cancer, stage four, the great murderer.

The end, bittersweet and cliché, our son returns home for his mother. We are a family again, briefly.

She is gone, she is gone, having lost her final bout.

My heart beats steady, there can be no doubt.

I am old and have lost everything, tomorrow rises for me.

Let it, I have seen little of the world but found no shelter from its wrathful seas.

Today arrives, glowing against my closed lids.

Disregarding the sun, I sit alone, my breath skips and skids.

If life is but the climb, I stand content upon the wintry mountain top.

Here, I will sit patiently, waiting for my heart to stop.

Brambles 

There’s a bluebird in the brambles.

It struggles and it squirms.

Let it out, let it out so it may sing.

Let it out, let it out so it may fly.

There’s a bluebird in the brambles.

Watch it choke, watch it gag.

Its doomed, doomed is that wretched little thing.

Its doomed, doomed in the brambles to die.

There’s a bluebird in the brambles.

Pity its pain, pity its suffering.

Its trapped, trapped in brambles that wring.

Its trapped, trapped in its thorny sty.

Save the bluebird from the brambles.

Aid its struggle, aid its leave.

Free it, free it from the bramble’s sting.

Free it, free it with a pull and a pry.  

Leave the bluebird in the brambles!

Many voices shout in anger, calling back to me.

Leave it, leave it for us so we may grind its wings to nothing.

Leave it, leave it to us so we may strangle its voice until there is no reply.

 Release the bluebird from your brambles!

I will not let you kill it, will not watch it die!

You can stay, you can stay in the brambles, but the bluebird must deliver Spring.

You can stay, you can stay in the brambles, but you must let the bluebird fly.