Favourites

The poems that I consider to be towards the better end of my output.

Fuelled by the Midsong Fist

Based on a dream I had about the dark, elusive "Reaper of Autumn".
Cherry

A New Leaf

I awake, once again in a fit of reminiscence. Feeling scraps of paper in my hair That previously danced beneath furious quills. Pressed deep against my twisted spine,

As I Am

As I breathe, the world is transformed. It writhes and flickers, warps in velvet. A kaleidoscope of doubt and mirth Scattered haphazard over linear fools. And fools they might be

Gull

Cackling laughter wheeling down cracks of sky A scavenger, a thief - A nonconformist sheep bereft of shepherd. Surveying its pitiful world with a greedy gaze Alighting on morsels.

Posthumous

Back where the skytide shatters its last Against the shadow of the silver door Back where the hornglows flutter beamingly As Fire and Brimstone Is where I'll wait Until I can wait no more.

The Drums of Siliconia

Cracked stones, sombre and burning Burning with grief, with rage at loss. Innocent lips, parting the eyes Raised to meet the albatross. Icy trees capped with thunder

He Moves In Patterns

His form of ashes drifts among the sails He is their light - he dances in his half-forgotten radiance And lands among the twisted spindle wax. Never frowning, never caring -

I Scribble Lyrics on the Clock

I scribble lyrics on the clock Scrawling with a child's breathless anticipation Tongue peeking meekly out. Waiting for the music to seize me once more

I Could Sense You

I could smell the heat. As it surrounded me Your breath, like honey Drowned out the din. I could taste the fire. As it captured me Your neck, like ivy Curved around mine.