Reworked, The Statue

The statue of the lovers wrapped,
In warm embrace endures.
Their features worn, and indistinct,
As time young love matures.

He holds and looks upon her,
Sweet angel in his arms.
She looks back at him, adoring,
Held captive by his charms.

This gaze, held for the ages,
Was to put doubt in its place,
But the fading years betray them,
They cannot recall each other's face.

I am the instigator

I'm really not the nicest guy
When it comes to playing fair,
I'd rather your woes multiply
Than take my honest share.

Whilst you are sat there, weeping
I'll look through you like you're hollow,
My insidiousness is creeping,
Makes this hard for you to swallow.

It was always going to end like this
And I was always set to win,
You fell for my deceitful kiss,
Which made you blind to constant sin.

I found the lying easiest,
When I wore a gormless smile
That's when I'm at my sleaziest,
Playing happy families for a while.

So, I'm leaving now, because I'm free;
Take a good, long look and then,
No sight, no sound, no hint of me
Will come your way again.

The secret

No-one knows, as I never talk,
Of my aching love for you.
I keep it bottled, under cork
Where it is safe, and true.

A weakness, or insanity,
That I should fail to act?
It's not for pride, or vanity,
I am mired here with tact.

Oh, I wish I'd told you months ago
Win back the time we've lost,
But I'm forever taking it too slow,
To my detriment, and cost.

And yet, so simple, it should be
To set it out in words;
Paint it for you, lyrically
Like the other bees to birds.

Of course, I fear I'm not enough,
Wrong in a thousand ways.
Too nervous to blag it, off the cuff,
Lost in my nervous haze.

So, tis secretly you hold my heart
And, in sorrow, I stay quiet.
Dreaming that we are not apart
As I was brave enough to try it.

All the things I'd do for you

I'd call you in the morning,
Because I miss your voice,
Or whisk you without warning
To destinations of your choice.

When I come, I'd bring you flowers,
And a book about Peru,
We could be there in twelve hours
Give or taking one or two.

And if you need collecting
At all hours of the night
You won't stand around expecting,
Cos I'm always early, right?

On weekends we would wander
Under blue and sun-kissed skies,
Or I'd gaze at you and ponder
The depth and beauty of your eyes.

I'd take you out, carousing,
And wake with cloudy head
Which is in itself arousing,
An excuse to stay in bed.

Oh, if only I could find the way
To tell you to your face,
That when I see you, any day,
My heart begins to race.

A hopeless case

He mumbles idle chatter, and hides from those three words,
He understands the bees alright, but knows nothing of the birds.
His endearing lack of confidence makes him play the waiting game,
Panicking his voice will crack next time he calls her name.
She is everything he admires, her heart as soft as his
And yet he cannot vocalise how magnificent she is.
On it will go, this foxtrot, until, at last, he breaks;
Just tell the girl you're in love with her, for both your wondrous sakes!

The drinker

Messy mind, it tortures him, thoughts stretched to ruin on the rack,
Hopes, contentment crucified, the future hides in black.
Just live for now, or perish here, comprehend your fate;
Mortal man, undignified, breathes spite and rage and hate.

Back over shoulder, mesmerised, the lies of years ago,
Downfall brought to memory, reliving blow by blow.
Trapped mind will wilt in feedback loop, the shattered mirror falls,
In pieces for another night, ‘To Oblivion!’ he calls.

And grasping now the bottle neck, to incapacity he’ll sink,
Swill it back, erase the pain, become one with the drink.
And so to wake another day, regretful and ashamed,
On shadow men, and broken heart, is all his folly blamed.

The River

How swiftly she forgot that once pledged to stay,
Referencing some illusory change as she
Slowly withdrew;
Her lips betraying an
Uncertainty her words kept hidden in
That final goodnight.
There could be no change worthy of such an
Ending in me, as an eyot I hold fast
In the stream, water passing by.
All those immersed are curious to see
One so grounded and unchanging,
That all my meetings seem as the river’s slick embrace.
It was her who let go, and me that was
Left to watch as she melted into the
Current and slowly, so slowly became
Indistinct, a part of the flow that
I must watch decline from me
To some fate the unmoving never understand.
So here I shall remain, and strain my eyes
Downstream, hoping to catch a glimpse of
Her, distinct, once again and
Wondering what events could ever uproot
Me and send me cascading in the waters
To the places I long to know.

The Black Veil

Suffocating it descends from the firmament above,
It's wonders ashamed behind the veil.
A sick caress turns to constriction,
The black deposit a chrysallis
Within which I become bleak despair.
Shielded from joy, from hope,
Even my touch carries no sensation
Here in my lonely tomb.
Here all things are but null,
Beneath the veil where daylight
Never comes,
And to this place I will return
When the sudden bitterness brings
It down as ruin upon the fallen.
I must cherish that which milks a smile
All the more, for those times
When the veil descends,
And I forget, and the world is numb.

Moonlit Stroll

She shimmers in the moonlight,
As I watch her from afar.
Her gentle contemplation soothes
Beneath my evening star.

Her hair cascades and tumbles
Yet none seem out of place,
An impossible perfection
Which frames the softest face.

Her figure graced the evening
Each curve a wave of joy.
Unparalelled in beauty,
Demure, reserved and coy.

I wish that I could tell her of
The love that burns inside,
But hope must linger, dwindling,
As it stands against the tide.

Time will take her from me,
And leave me as before,
Half a wistful melody
On an uncompleted score.

For her

Lovely, in such a way only true beauty can be,
As if she were a daisy in a fairy glade
Caressed by the breeze to catch my eye.
How I would wish for no love-me-not,
Wandering, lost, within a dream.
The star that shone so bright,
It pierced the curtain above and
Bathed me in the softening light of our beginnings,
Calling me back, back to the start,
There to wonder at the fabric of her creation.
Of the many times she smiled for me,
I treasure each and consider, wistfully,
If there is any way such an earthen soul
Could match her simple grace.

The Muse

She glides with grace, this uncommon beauty,
From whom I cannot avert my gaze.
Each step she makes seems choreographed
As a tantalising dance takes shape.
In my mind I am Astaire,
Ready to whisk her round the room,
Light-footed, light-hearted,
A whimsical coupling free from care.
Each hair behaves to perfection,
Waving and wafting, on day release,
Framing a whole new study in wonderment.
Her eyes sparkle when they set upon me,
As if interacting with the joy such attentions bring.
They draw my glance to her mouth,
Quickly upturned in a reassuring grin,
Before I retreat back to drown in those eyes
Joyous, sad, deep, flirtacious all at once.
I should content myself with that smile,
But as she turns to the pressing matters of the day;
A cup of coffee, or passing friend,
I am wracked in grief that I know not how
To tell her I am in love.
She is as beautiful to me
As words can convey,
And yet I cannot bring myself to speak,
Lest my love be spurned and a veil be ever drawn
Between me and my matchless joy.

Inspiration

I had the most entertaining idea for a short story yesterday, one which fermented overnight in between bouts of waking up and hitting 5live for the cricket update and strange dreams which seemed to involve me wagering large sums of money which were supposed to be for cat food (don't ask!)
By the time I got up this morning I was fairly excited by the whole prospect, and it is not something I have seen done before in the way I intend to. I would be drawing on various other styles and blending them somewhat but essentially, a top drawer idea which I think will fly. So far, so good and then it hit me....

I cannot for the life of me work out the mechanics of writing this down. I know the plot, I know the subtle twist/theme I am working in as the story proceeds, I know the hook that gets the reader intrigued and I know how it ends (or rather doesn't, but that is for another time!). However, I am really struggling to comprehend how I tie it all together.

This is an immensely frustrating situation, and one I am finding even worse than the complete writer's logjam I suffered from earlier in the year. It is all there for the taking, the entire thing is clear in my head and yet I can't work out how to get it on paper. I don't know if it is actually feasible to do what I want to do in words. I am going to be so angry if I can't pull this one off, it really is a doozy!

I though blogging about it might provide the spark of inspiration, but alas, answers, as yet, come there none. A case of watch this space. I do hope I haven't just massively overhyped this ;)

A fun little ditty

Thought I'd try something a little tongue-in-cheek, anyone who has played with the silly juice will know a little of the below.

Title - Never Again!

Dull throbbing oscillates and spikes
To painful lucidity, bringing ragged
Focus on hard-earned shame, and
Snowballing horror at the jagged
Picture of long hours stolen.
Denial turns swiftly to revulsion
And all attempts at normal routine
Are met by sudden and total stomach expulsion.
Capitulate to undeserved self-pity
Berating yourself that you swore
Never again to wake like this
On the morning after the night before.

New piece, Work in Progress!

This needs a fair amount of work - but it occured to me as I was daydreaming the other day - sometimes a simple memory of one you loved brings a moment of real contentment, not for any longing to return to the past, but because in isolation, that past was wonderful, the moment was grand and frankly, it desrves a poem of it's own.

Title - The Thirty Second Smile

To memory there stirs a flash
Of she that went before,
With gentle hands I haven't held
In countless years, and more!

So now she comes and dances here
Herald of forgotten charms?
Ah yes! Look, here comes yester-me
And takes her in his arms.

Such an oddly perfect pair they make
She soft and light, he dark mystery.
Fated, though they did not know,
To Love's sad history.

And now I can merely pause
And for the duration of their show
I'll wear the smile of yesterday,
For my love of long ago!

Unblock damn you!

I love to write, always have, it is a good way of getting some release on frustrated feelings, but it is also healthy when you have as active and bizarre an imagination as mine. However, over the recent few years I have found it increasingly difficult to commit anything to paper (or, more accurately, the electronica herewith that masquerades as paper). It is as if the Word Wrangler himself has been going Hamburglar on my sweet behind and stealing the words before I can arrange them into acceptable patterns.

So, I am going to write about writing, a tricksy ploy to fool the Wrangler, words smuggled out under the cover of darkness; yep, 3 years into a bad case of the block I am that sneaky. I have a passionate desire to tell you all about the adventures of Pants Cat, a sad excuse for a moggy, the very antithesis of others in that wise and noble genus felis catus, but he has been asleep under the laburnum for the past 4 years since he purred his way into my conscience. I have a splendid idea that I came up with months ago for an audience-interactive play which I have traced the synopsis for, even pictured the protagonist in good detail but I can't seem to get him onto the page, let alone the stage. I have dozens of poems buzzing round my head but I can't fathom out which words go with which meter in which piece.

I really want to start writing regularly again, I want to get back to the story of Pete and Ellie that I began 7 years ago and still has Pete heading home for Christmas 2002 and Ellie smiling at him without the faintest idea of how her world is about to shatter. She probably doesn't deserve it, and she is certainly in no hurry to leak out of my imagination to experience it.

It is extremely frustrating, I need some fashion of shield behind which I can express wantonly whilst the Wrangler twirls his moustache menacingly, but ultimately helplessly, the other side. There must be such a shield, and I must find it soon as I am certain I can hear Pants Cat waking up outside.

New Poem

This is the first new piece of any type (poem, short story or other) I have written in about 3 years. Never mind the quality, feel the width, it feels good to get something out again!

Title undecided

The midnight tears still tumble on
And keep the Fates amused.
Totemic of the tattered hope
You casually abused.

Shades of futures slipped from grasp
Still haunt my waking hours,
The cruellest hint of might-have-beens
In lovers bearing flowers.

The darkness settles once again
And cloaks the house in sorrow
Which sucks the joy from yesterday
And poisons our tomorrow.

Yet this carnage you have left
Is as nothing to the fear
That now I'll shun the worthy love
Of gentler souls drawn near.