A softer story

The history is of a fainter memory
Faded photographs, dust covered pictures
Tears of happiness
Tears of joy

Tears of tearing apart
And the hurt of innocence
All bundled here together
Safe of de-fragmented memory

The hairs on my arms
Tell a softer story; stroked
By all of those who I have loved
And those who have loved me

For now it is our own skin
That paints the richer pictures
That tells the fairer story
That lives, to give a longer life


This poem was left on the cutting room floor when Embroidered Cadillac - Love in Tennyson County was edited, for the final cut got to smashwords by clicking her

Undressed

Eyes open, eyes closed
Mind woken
Soft spoken sunlight

Warm
Round your bosom breast
I rest my love & all of my possessions

Eyes still, eyes filled
With happy
Tender projections

Smile
You go soft across my lips

Erect on my finger tips, blest my love

A breeze
A whirlwinds whisper
Hair sailed, thinly veiled

Yet o so
My girl
You do touch me

Some test my love
Undressed
Of all my flying colours


This poem was left on the cutting room floor when Embroidered Cadillac - Love in Tennyson County was edited, for the final cut got to smashwords by clicking her

Before

Unseen
Between here
And wherever

Sunlight falls on swaying trees

Bay leaves
She left
Just last summer

Waited there
For the last
Passing cloud

Before she hit the road, before she hit the bottle

Forgotten sounds
And pleasure grounds
And lights there

Fair a plenty

Uncared
She stared
Into every which

And every other way

Prepared only for forgiveness
No other thought as mad
Had she to give

Awash

The melancholic grieve
Yet still even now
So softly we believe

Her kiss quite simply did precede her


This poem was left on the cutting room floor when Embroidered Cadillac - Love in Tennyson County was edited, for the final cut got to smashwords by clicking her

Sear shine move blue flame to blue

Sear shine
Move blue flame to blue
Waken, exult, arise
Turn on the blue to angel blue

Each dream that walks
Each step so light
Move on; let them be
Let each one be

this poem lies on the cutting room floor, for the ones that made it into the pamphlet Yorkshire Love Poems & Other Desperate Stuff click her

Secret Number Stuff

I try your phone
no ones there

I try your phone
someones there; engaged

I try your phone
lonesomes there not you

I wait for you to return my call
read Dylan Thomas

I visualise his patterns
a vocal vocabulary of pain

I drift inside the writers world
poetry is always to be thus

The telephone rings
startled I try to gain a grip on the night

I hear your happiness
forever I can tell you of Rollo May

this poem lies on the cutting room floor, for the ones that made it into the pamphlet Yorkshire Love Poems & Other Desperate Stuff click her