The Darker

Photograph of the Moon through Pine trees at night

the moon through pine trees

In the sun you do not see me,
standing where your shadow falls
In the night you cannot hear me
although in silence blackness calls.
In the darkness, see the starlight
not visible in day
and in the realm of opal moonlight
rest you – by the window stay.
A fool is what people would call me
a master of deceit and lie
as real as your blackest nightmares
only gentler come whistling by.
In the breeze my weak flame sputters
casting dark, on dark, the night:
but in the gloom can stand – aphotic
so that you can see the light.

Nine Lives

oh how I now must face my fears

drying my eyes away where cold-shed tears

evaporate away to powder – salt

the only trace that’s left of fault

yet it is not true that I don’t regret

but quite what I should do – I forget

and my tears do not belie I’m sad

instead that once my heart was glad

I lived a life that was full of vigour

why I should be sad I just don’t figure

but now comes the part in this fine race

where my heart must live without its trace

nine-lives the cat but perhaps its true

that I had more, but more ran through

perhaps my last one ends just here

perhaps already by my fear

without regret could I live instead

in a world of poetry going round my head

perhaps I could return again

one more time to lift the rhyming pen

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re-entering the world anew

pupated after three months

of quiet contemplation

today shall I exit my cave

leave my hermit-hood behind


will the world be different –

one where the wind blows afresh

or one that has not changed:

even as the sun still shines

which way will the shadows fall?


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In response to Judith Westerfield's The Heart Of The Battle:


do you notice not

the wind that blows against us

it is but the same?


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In response to Judith Westerfield's Invisible Illness And The White Flag Of Surrender:


no resignation!

but accepting of what is

at peace with the world


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