life – Page 7 – Afterwards

Misty morning meloncholy

Silver wisps caress your icy cheeks as morning pushes back the night…

You know I like a good prompt and these are M’s for February. Why not give them a whirl.

Silver wisps caress your icy cheeks

as morning pushes back the night

and unforgiving golden fingers point accusing

love’s rage laid bare in starkest of delight

And all about life marches on

Oblivious to cold and brutal loss

And tendrils creep and hide the shame

‘neath leaves and roots and branch and moss

No eulogy beneath the stars

No tears, no hymn, no black procession

Under the sun, bleached, turned to dust

No longer mine, but death’s possession

In the midst of sadness and despair

Another of these…

You know I like a good prompt and these are M’s for February. Why not give them a whirl.

Your sweet whisper the zephyr in my sails,

Still waters stretched before me.

And golden sunset calls me on

And horizons set me free

Clouds circle dark, waves stirred to life

And day turns into night

Cold watery claws scratch at my sides

And sanity takes flight

I dash myself against your rocks

Stare into your abyss

Drifting with the flotsam lost

Still hunger for your kiss

And golden daylight comes again

I swim towards your shore

though sirens call me to their arms

to lead me home once more

The edge of forever

Breathless I stare into the void

You know I like a good prompt and these are M’s for February. Why not give them a whirl.

A lifetime you gave me, willingly,

and I drank and devoured every drop.

My belly full I sense alas my race is run.

I gorged and feared the settings sun

And begged her please to stop

She shook her head and took my hand

And led me to nightfall’s brink.

A price to pay for banquet sweet,

Dark nothing swirled about my feet

And slowly into darkness did I sink.

Into light I melt, to be no more

All I am returned once more

A life lived well, and as I fade

Pure joy I feel for life I made

I smile and am no more

Circle in the sky

Long I laboured beneath your golden gaze…

You know I like a good prompt and these are M’s for February. Why not give them a whirl.

Long I laboured beneath your golden gaze.

Day upon day and into so many years now long forgot

In every one I sensed you there

you whispered that you’d leave me not.

Time races headlong to this final sunset

warm embrace upon my pallid skin

through misty eyes I recall your face

and feel your warmth burn deep within.

Though darkness calls beyond the stars

to nothing will I fade

This life, this love, this evermore

of memories are made.

January’s random photos

January in photos. Mostly food, rugby and London

Let’s try be serious this week and see how it goes. > Saturday.

Now I’m just making stuff up for sh1ts and giggles…

I drank your lies,

Tepid they filled my mouth, trickling down my eager throat.

Such sweet promises and sublime simple surrender.

Idle and bloated I lay like a roadside carcass

swollen by the seering sun, and watched your soft cherry lips.

Eagerly, foolishly, I clung to every word,

each sickly syllable a noose tight around my throat

and sleepwalking I follow, my hand in yours

over coals lit red with flames of broken promises

eyes streaming as acrid tomorrows drift ever skywards

Let’s try be serious this week and see how it goes. > Friday.

Happy friday people. A day late.

Oh I’d smile and watch you weep

Tears as cold as your heart

Beautiful promise you couldn’t keep

Sickly sweet they dripped from your tongue

How I’d laugh as you tell me why

Acrid lies spilling over your lips

Pooling stagnant at your feet

As I remember his hands, gentle on your hips

Sweet moments soured and stained

And fists clenched, confined to experience

A heart now free once chained

No regrets, no forgiveness. Just nothing.

Let’s try be serious this week and see how it goes. > Thursday.

A little late….

Alone she stands and silent mourns

Snow whipped about her feet

Dreams buried in a grave of lies

Air foul where once was sweet

And tears streaming down her cheeks

Fists clenched, jaw resolute

A rage inside pushed deep down low

Her screams once wild now mute

The trust now lost the joy departed

Cold earth on loves corpse piled

No rose she lays no prayers she speaks

Wipes her face, then turns, and smiles

Let’s try be serious this week and see how it goes. > Wednesday.

4 days in a row! How grown up.

Starlight

Come light my way at long days end

And lead me

Over hill and back until night’s end

Consume me.

With silver gaze my heart to mend

Then free me

And no more ever to pretend

Let’s try be serious this week and see how it goes. > Tuesday.

Tuesday and still going strong…Bit dark though I will be honet. Perhaps tomorrow I will be serious about someone riding a bike. How dark can that get?

On the shore he stands, tempest raging, sky turned black

and defiant screams into the wind

Demands the ocean calm and give her back

and tears demand forgiveness for his sins

Atop the waves white horses rear and furious race

headlong, stamped and crash about his feet

and tousled hair is whipped about his sallow face

no surrender, no forgiveness no retreat

Nature’s fury taunts and mocks, he hears her calls.

The sun obscured, dark finger pointed, accusations fly

and though he begs she stays within deep prison walls

doomed to repeat and every night to die

Let’s try be serious this week and see how it goes. > Monday.

More serious poems becauise I’m just that kinda guy. No I am really. Honest. Look at my rhyming n stuff.

Mouth full of lies and the soft sigh of thighs,

oblivious he swims in waters deep.

And entangled dragged low by her strong undertow

full red lips, creamy skin, whispered promises keep.

And so blinded, and chided and ever reminded

how she bends to her will and devours

very easy succumbs to the beat of her drums

and he withers with autumnal flowers

and so belly fat, filled, he’s a slave to her will

appetite, ravenous, quenched

too late rails, cold and frail, and her darkness prevails

on the shoreline cold lifeless and drenched

Let’s try be serious this week and see how it goes. > Sunday

How about a poem to start. A poem can be a frightfully serious thing.

Through golden shards I see her one last time

Summer’s fading light reflected

and slow she turns away.

And ever since each moment tight in chains I’m bound.

Such cruel memories remind me often,

of things that I gladly a king’s ransom would pay,

and to forget.

And then, with sun on my face I look to her and at last,

as love lost fades into bliss I rest.

Beyond the night sky

In space nobody can hear your thrumbus go sploosh…

I wrote a bunch of prompts you can read about the process here. This is my response to one of them.

Gentrax wiped his brow as she entered the room. There was a look in her eye and a sway in her gait that told him that it was time. She was ready. As she crossed the floor towards him he gulped and stared and watched with a hunger at the way Dorenta’s thrumbus pulsated with vivid green’s and blue’s.

Tonight would be the night that their clanbond would finally be fulfilled and he would take his rightful place in the glorious caves of the forefathers .

Standing before him she spread wide her trill and licked her lips. The moonlight flooding into the room through the opening high in the cave ceiling made her scales flash irredescent. “Present yourself” she said with an intensity in her eyes that left him breathless.

Gentrax stood from where he lay on the mat of rushes that he had spent the afternoon preparing. His chest rose and fell and his skellit rattled, warm and moist, and she circled him drawing a clawed talon across his splintle. He bit his lip as pleasure flooded through his body.

“Are you my betrothed?” she asked standing so close that he could almost taste her.

He answered as taught by the shamen. “I am your betrothed and my body is yours.”

Gentrax smiled as she cupped his floosh, gently at first, and then squeezed until he winced.

“Impressive” she said as her thrumbus turned a dark crimson.

She was pleased , Gentrax told himself, and if she was pleased then surely he would prove worthy. She released him and then pulled him into her forcefully. Her body hypnotic as she moved, as if to the very rhythm of the passage of time itself. The curves of her body brushed against him and his tongue snaked from between his lips hungry for the taste of her.

“I am yours” he hissed as she lay on the rush bed and becloned form him to join her.

His skellit was already in full bloom, the lips pink and full. She presented her trill, it’s small sharp teeth glistening in the moon light. “Lie with me” she demanded.

Gentrax prostrated himself next to her and felt the weight of her against his back. Pleasure coursed through his body as his floosh opened wide and its musky aroma filled the cave.

“You are ripe indeed” she said as she took his skellit deep inside her. He felt the small teeth grip him tight and the mox of pain and pleasure left him breathless. Her talons dug into his shoulders and he cried out as he felt her trill sever his skellit.

“Sweet delight” he mumbled as she rose up over him, her thrumbus now inky black as the night sky. Talons pushed further into him and he began to bleed, the thick green life blood seeping through the reeds and onto the dusty cave floor.

“You are my betrothed” she roared as his eyes widened and his floosh exploded from between the spines on his back, his precious life giving nectar pooling between his scales for her to devour.

She licked her lips and leanign forward hungrily consumed it before again leanign over him, her mouth next to his ear.

“You have served me well my love” she said, her voice low and little more than a whisper. Her jaw widened and her eyes rolled back into her head as he smiled knowing that he had proven worthy.

As she removed his head he rejoiced as he knew his race was run and tonight he would join the forefathers.

The Last Summer

As summer’s end draws near my thoughts turn once more to you.

I wrote a bunch of prompts you can read about the process here. This is my response to one of them.

As summer’s end draws near my thoughts turn once more to you. Though my memories fade into sepia tones you remain as vibrant as the day I first laid eyes on you. So full of life you sparkled like the stars and oh how I recall that first time I saw you and just being in the same room as you simply took my breath away.

I remember your smile, and oh god the way you smelled. Vanilla and violets, you left me heady and desperate for more of you. Something. Anything. Intense and raw and without constraint we lived and loved I swear even now were you here my heart would near burst at the sight of you. No matter how many summers pass into autumn I remember you so very clearly still.

When all else has faded to grey I know I will still have you, and our sweetest of moments will linger, and I will close my eyes and see you lying beside me, the morning sun on your pale skin as you sleep.

Time steals such precious moments as thrill our hearts today and I hold evermore tight as all else slips from my grasp. The way you move and the sweetness of you voice. Even more sweet embrace after such longing when apart.

All these things are treasures beyond compare and bring such joy, though sadness often lingers close behind. Green to gold the seasons turn and as I sit looking out I see the tree, old and gnarled and bark scarred as deep as my soul. The place where you sat so many lazy crazy days.

The place where you now rest.

A symbol of my obsession, of my regret, and where hidden you lie alone in cold, hard ground.

For my Children – 1 – My earliest memory

One day they may stumble upon these.

I was born in Hull on the east coast of England in November of 1971. My mother was one of eight and my father one of three. I was the first grandchild born into what would eventually be a family that numbered somewhere between sixty and seventy, though it is often hard to recall all the names and connections witha family so vast.

The fishing trade was still the heart of Hull and very much at the heart of my mothers side of the family. My mum’s father was a trawlerman as were a number of my older uncles, with my other aunts and uncles only 7 or 8 years older than me. My earliest memories seem to be dominated by that side of the family for some reason and I cannot really recall my fathers side at all or even our own smaller family of just mum, dad and me.

My mother tells me how my grandad and uncle would return from months away at sea and turn out their pockets and invite me to help myself to whatever money they had – which was often a lot. Casting my mind back I can vaguely remember my uncle taking me to the toy store and telling me that I could have whatever I wanted, and I headed home with a blue scooter which had the most fantastic tassles which hung from the handles.

I also remember Queen. No, not the queen but the band. Even now so many of their songs trigger memories or shadows of memories that take me somewhere almost now lost to me.

Memories of coming downstairs at my granparents house and the smell of stale beer and cigarettes are also still quite vivid after more than forty years too. Curiously I can even still see the ash tray on a stand in the middle of the floor with the push top opening mechanism that I was often told to leave alone.

Even before then though I remember being in a pram outside a house on the other side of the street looking back across to where my mum’s parents lived on the Greatfield council estate in east Hull. It is quite clear to me still and I described it to my mother, pointing out the actual house when we visited forty years later. She insists surely I could not be rememberin gthat because I was probably only three at the most, but I remain quite certain that I remember it quite clearly even now…