A writer’s Muse

Beneath the starry sky he sits,
Perched atop the rock, overlooking the sea,
Watching the sun go down in a blaze of orange,
Trying to make sense of it all, how it fits.

Winds ruffle his pages as he writes,
One goes missing, ephemeral he thinks, like her,
A glimpse stolen, as bright as the moon, now up,
Another muse, another beautiful night…

Unfinished Poem

On a Wednesday afternoon,
Listening to Clapton play;
All I could think of,
Was that beautiful day.

The thrill is gone away,
Hear BB King sing today;
I’m free from your spell, hey!
Yet the scent lingers, here to stay.

With every note, every key,
And Mayer playing gravity;
Buckled knees, it was clear to me,
You’re my unfinished poem, oh baby!

Yin and Yang

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Gazing into the depth of it’s expanse I stood humbled, the weight of responsibilities pulling me down.

Realization dawned of how inconsequential I was, nothing mattered, no person, no possession, no city, no town.

When something as magnanimous, as mighty as the sea could be tamed so. Who was I to question why my existence is such, who gets to stay back and who gets to go.

There is a balance in all things, nothing happens as an off chance. For every beast there is a taker, for every descent, an ascent, for every Yin there is a Yang.

Castle on the Hill

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Sitting in the meadow overlooking the hill
The sparkle in your eyes the highlights your hair
As you watched the leaves move time for me stood still

Every breath on my neck, every whiff of your hair
As we roll around the grass lost in a world of our own
Reminds me of the night we first met
Your scent deep inside me, down to the very bone

Under that oak tree on that hot summer afternoon
Lying down in your lap as you played with your dress
I could just but stare at that beautiful smile
Spellbound as the sun gave way for the moon

Opening that bottle of wine
You kept it aside to let it breathe
I was the one who had to catch my breath as I saw you
Poised like Aphrodite herself
As your tender frame highlighted under that night sky
Oh how I was glad you were mine

Laying with you under the same blanket, I got my fill
The rhythm of your breath, the warmth of your skin
With you baby I can make a castle over this hill.

From the 90’s with love

It’s the 21st century and we live in an age,
Where text messages have replaced chits.
Where first dates often lead to make out sessions,
Where did love go it’s hard to gauge.

I remember a time when love letters were written on pages,
When the first brush of the hand used to be nothing less than magic.
When sipping coffee used to be the norm when you first meet,
Now it’s usually alcohol and hormone which rages.

I come from a time when hook ups weren’t so cool,
Then loyalty too was a big deal.
Once a cheater always a cheater,
That’s what we lived by; that was the rule.

As I remember it, first kisses were meant to be a story,
Not just a random kiss in a bar some night.
The romance of that moment was appreciated,
Not a random encounter in the back of some lorry.

Sex was not something that you just had,
It had emotions and feelings not just crude desire.
We merged bodies together, and our hearts,
Animalistic as it is, it wasn’t back then a fad.

Given the chance I would gladly go back,
I am an old school romantic in this hook-up culture after all.
It is the time that is wrong not the people in it,
I just keep waiting for a miracle, some kind of hack.

Take me back to when love actually lasted,
When one person and one person only mattered.
When people were ready to work things out,
When couples, for each other, actually fasted.

Ah those days of hidden naughty romance,
Those sneaky little tricks that we used to pull.
I remember following my crush from a distance,
Because talk to her? You kidding? No chance!

I wish I was back when it was meant to be from above,
When physical union was considered to be sacred.
Oh how I wish I was back when we fought for each other,
This one is for you, you know who too, FROM THE 90’S WITH LOVE. . . .

December

Once he knew her inside out,
Now things weren’t so clear anymore.
Often there would be misunderstandings,
They would run out of things to talk about.

Once he knew why she laughed and why she cried,
Now he didn’t even know when she was happy and when she wanted to run and hide.

He knew this would happen one day,
He knew she was meant for better things.
Every time he told himself he would be ready for it when it comes,
Lying to himself every step of the way.

The truth was he loved her too much,
Or maybe too little to see her go like this.
He still held on to those moments shared,
Just like a child learning to walk holds on to his crutch.

How so ever self destructive it was he couldn’t care,
Closed his eyes, “I will not let this, this way fair!”

As December approached he couldn’t help but cry,
So many images and pictures he had in mind;
So many ways they could fly.

Drank another peg, smoked another joint,
“Winter please don’t fail me” he said;
This cold air but her hair is still on point. . .

A Cold Night And A Warm Heart

A Cold Night and A Warm Heart

As the clouds grew thicker I sat there,
Looking through the window far across the meadow;
That solitary light across the field,
Her hut shone like a beacon, the windows in a pair.

My fireplace crackled with wood but yet I was cold,
No rug at my feet no blanket on my shoulder;
Could warm up the chill in my heart,
Sitting there on the rocking chair only her memory could I hold.

As the rain started to fall so did my tears,
Remembering the days just like this one;
She would cuddle with me in the same blanket,
The warmth in her eyes when she said “here is the hot chocolate my dear”.

Now all that was left was an unmade bed,
The distance from my hut to hers seemed like an eternity;
I held the urn that held her ashes close to my heart,
She had walked across the meadow, I’ll meet you there she had said.

A Broken Guitar

A Broken Guitar

 

The raindrops ran down the window pane,
The only light were the flashes of light in the sky;
As I sat there in a stupor of emotions,
The broken guitar was the only thing that helped me by.

Her scent was still fresh on my clothes,
She didn’t even wait for her clothes to dry;
The door was still ajar, the wind was strong,
The broken guitar was the only thing that helped me by.

The letter, smudged with our tears still in my hand,
No matter what I did, it was her love that gave me a high;
She apologized, she was marrying someone else,
The broken guitar was the only thing that helped me by.

The Prison

Shuffled feet, raspy breath, mangled hair, he was the picture of despair
His eyes were blood shot as he reached out in the dark
His hands flayed helplessly but there was no one there
All he could see were the scars on his hands, every single mark

Trudged on without any direction as forward was the only way
He knew he couldn’t go back not when he’d just escaped
Going forward however was not as easy as they say
It didn’t seem to get any better, he could not see another day

Weak he was, feet heavy, his heart was starting to slow down
All the demons he’d left behind were starting to catch up
It was in his most grave hour did he see far ahead, a town
Finally he thought, I’ll get a bed to rest and some tea, a nice hot cup

Little did he know that it was here he would find his bliss
In the middle of nowhere, in the mist, this little old place
Walked into the bar and there she was, impossible to miss
They talked all night long and he had finally found solace

She held him close, looked after his wounds, nurtured him
She gave him food, shelter, clothes but all he wanted was the embrace
It was in her arms that he slept, eyes watered as the light dim
He slipped in and out and the only thing he could see was her face

Three days later they buried him beneath the shade of a willow tree
His tombstone read, “ We hope he finds what he was searching for”
However he looked down from above and smiled with glee
Her grave was right beside his, there was nothing he was searching for anymore.