Potato Picking

October half term,

Family assembled.

In praise of the soil, 

We woman,

Solid, strong and resolved,

Sorting clod from potato.

Grandmother aching,

Unhappiness is voiced.

But we're too busy,

To listen.

Silent, sobbing inside, 

And trailer is filled again

Years turn, as furrow,

Seasons over again.

Relentlessly on,

This broad field.

Clinging to the blood and stone,

Together we remember.

The Sun

Grey is the sun,

Hung so far on high.

Meanly is clad,

In cloud laden sky.

Hence is the spring,

The morning is nigh.

Fake Tan Cupid

Fake tan cupid,

Burning with desire.

Gorged on false lust,

Flesh guilded fire.

Restless ever,

This beau for hire.

Always The Same

Always the same,

The change that never ends.

Natural flux,

From enemies to friends.

Life renewing,

As death leads us to birth.

Down toward skies,

Upward beckons the earth.

Welcoming tears,

Silence is blinding me.

Happiness now,

Where sadness used to be. 

Skin

Dark desire written here, 
In ink your life etched.
So, let swell that needles art, 
Carve the sweetest flesh.

Longing for arms to hold us,
So aches the heart.
This isolation dressed as lust,
We each played our part.

Beauty spreads across your skin,
While months they slip by.
Your easy mind relieves me,
Dreams are but a sigh.

Wednesday

Following Saxon sword,
Pagan passage,
Through Christian place.
God for whom this day is named,
Ancient and mighty,
Lost to us his face.

Tuesday

Tyr,
God of justice,
Ruling fairly with single hand.
At Ragnorok, the right was lost,
Taken by lycan lord, Fenir.
At Asgards final stand.

Threads

Let the yarn be gathered up,
Those agile limbs, well learned.
Comb and card, with hands worn hard.
Labours prize is earned

Let me here take up my place,
Just like those fates of old.
Sit and spin, whilst gossiping.
Ages past were told.

Let me work upon my loom.
Thus our passions weave be spun.
Weft and warp, in bliss be caught.
Cloth of care begun.

Helios Wakes

Helios wakes,
From ancient slumber.
Spreading rays of healing light.
Beyold him,
Awesome, fearless.
The miracle of mornings sight.

Hail the Moon

Milk white face shimmers,
Embraced by blue velvet.
Within dreamy sigh, hung upon high.
In the night sky it is set.

Goodnight

When night lets down its veil,
Weary eyes close tight.
May sleep be as deep,
As your dreams are sweet.
And all your woes take flight.

Broad lies the field

Broad lies the field that yeilds its all,
Between reservoir and stone wall.
Clay is the toil turned soil again,
Carved with care and joy and pain.
Dark is the sky clad high in cloud,
Deep crafted by man, plain and proud.
Etched the land, this hand harvested,
Ever worked, season by and tested.
Forty the acre was created and farmed.
For over 3 hundred years been charmed.

Picking Blackberries

Picking blackberries with a stranger,
In the moments bliss, now lost.
Imperial purple stains the fingers,
And thus, my Rubican, was crossed.
Empires fall, as false friends must too,
But how great will be the cost?
Once fine, now tattered, fortunes cloth,
Is held in memories woven frost.