Sleep no longer came around so often;
it shied away like some embarassed first date,
or a cat that slinks away under a moonlit sky,
or the thief leaving the scene of the crime.
Ah, fuck it!
There are still a million words to write.
The sun rolled down the clear, autumn sky
in a blaze of fuchsia,
its light lingering
like a lovers’ first kiss.
In the dark,
a candlelight in my head
as I’m pulled from infinite dreams
(of what?)
Eyes closed but the mind
opened to a thousand possibilities
in the coming dawn
(at least I hope it is)
I want to hear the morning’s chatter
among the birds
and their song of the morning
I did it again, without thinking. I went to the shop to buy something for the lesson I was about to take when I saw a new line of notebooks at a pinch of a price. Well, I’m sure many of you will understand me…I just had to.
______________________________________________________
Another notebook;
another notebook from a noted store
of a noteworthy purveyor of notebooks.
Another notebook;
bought with the notable intention of
making notes and taking notes.
Another notebook;
Noting acts of notability
and of notable notoriety.
Another notebook;
I have to take notice if I take notes,
if not; how can I note what I’ve noticed?
3am,
the devil’s hour.
The wind shrieks through the trees
and on a balcony
(mine?)
sends a flower pot flying.
Horizontal rain
sprays the blinds
in a machine-gun scatter.
With heavy head
and heavy lids
I sit
and wonder why.
The sun draws blinds on another winter’s day;
whose light grows longer,
whose warmth grows stronger.
The sun’s rays of orange, pink and violet
grip the deepening sky,
like cat claws on curtains.
The sun slips below the horizon
like a drowned man
to leave me cloaked in black.
The hand reaches for the button
that flashes the green numbers
counting down the hours
of a night that is endless; and awake,
as I long to fall into sleep,
be it restless and haunted,
sleep it remains.
I envy it.
I’m not a cat;
I can’t see in the dark
yet it’s always dark
when I awake
and draw the line
under another night’s sleep.
She haunts my dreams
And waking hours
She is gold and silver
And ringed with flowers
Her presence stills me
Her words enthral me
I am hers
And she is mine
Every letter lingers,
and every word wrings,
while the stubborn sentence stabs
the pained paragraph.
***
Sun beating, sun shining
People walking, people watching
Trees growing, green leaves
Groundsmen cutting, green grass
Lake lapping, water’s edge
Water sparkling, countless diamonds
Birds singing, birds flying
Ducks swimming, swans snobbing
Violinists playing, Mozart scales
Me sitting, listening
Not speaking, just thinking
Eating lunch in the park
![20140714_135037[1]](https://christopherfarley.files.wordpress.com/2014/07/20140714_1350371.jpg)
Firelight, flame dance
shadow tango, flicker bright
Light, blaze and burn away
the cold, dark winter night
The cold black winter night
of frost, snow and ice
of chilled bones gently warmed,
reading by the firelight
Reading by the firelight
Shadow tango, pages white
Let your warmth envelope me
and burn away this cold, dark night
Life hanging by a thread
Cold and dark, am I dead?
This tiny, cramped space
Could it be my tomb?
Or have I been born again,
a return to the womb?
There feels like a weak spot
In the wall by my head
But I can’t move my arms
So I’ll use my teeth instead
To dig through the grey wall
And out into the light
Where I can unfold my coloured wings
Stretch, and take flight
This started out as a prompt in Writer’s Forum magazine, giving me the title. I really enjoy these exercises and they can make a wonderful change from whichever project you’re working on.
********************************
Walking together
Under foggy street light
While you wonder
How to say goodnight
How to say goodnight
Will it end in a kiss?
Or will you return home
And regret the chance missed
Regret the chance missed
As she fades from sight
Wishing you knew
How to say goodnight
January;
gloved and hatted
walk.
Frosted breath,
then, finally
the warmth.
Then cold
that condences
on glass,
rivulets running.
The dark:
getting darker, and
crowned
by white.
The cold;
to the touch,
to the senses.
How I enjoy
a pint of Guinness
In the cold January air flame and smoke disappear
but the sound goes on forever.
The pistol crack; the victim’s gasp,
dead before his wide-eyed head smashes against the pavement;
the screams of the passers-by;
the shouting policemen holding them back;
the wailing ambulance;
the knock, apologetic, on the door;
the crying, desperate,
left without a husband and father;
the monotone of the priest;
the 12 clicking heels take the coffin;
the sobs of the veiled
and the final, definite scraping of soil,
thrown from shovel to grave.
The shot was still ringing out.
Amsterdam; funny old town
Rain splats in the Dam Platz
Friendships deeper than the North Sea
Red light window girl for all to see
All smiles and business
Display and pay
Canal boats and bicycles
Blond girls and blue eyes
Coffee shops and red eyes
Amsterdam; funny old town
Tonight, I’m not so bright
Head full of work
Heart full of words
Writer’s block?
Doesn’t exist. Just type
Damn it, type
Anything, everything.
A heart full of words
Can be held back
Only like the sea
or the mighty ocean
can be held back
Dam it at your peril
A dam can be broken.
A heart full of words
like a heart full of soul
a heart full of song
a heart full of faith
will overcome
the head full of work
and make me bright once more.
Waiting room, full again
Doctor’s patients, my patience
Your sickness, my illness
Your prescription, my medication
Your suffering, my pain
Your temperature, my fever
Your bone is broken, my fever hasn’t
Your chest X-Ray, my chest pain
You cough your heart up
Mine’s about to give up
Your cure from a Chemist’s lab
My end on a Mortician’s slab
Here am I
Who am I
In the mirror
My eyes
The eyes of someone
I no longer know
The eyes of someone
Who no longer shows
A light
A smile
I revile, myself
And who I’ve become
No longer one
Who was someone
To care
To share
To bare his soul
Insomnia has left a hole
But hope will not desert me.
The heat
The sultry heat
Humidity
Show humility
When my temper frays
And my patience craves
The rain
The wind
And the cooling
Of my soul
The summer lust
The heat-filled dusk
The night
The tortured night
She whispers to me
the sound of the spring snowmelt
She holds me
in a snow-chain grip
She loves me
I’m pierced by an icicle
I slide unhindered
on black ice beneath me
Would you accept damaged goods?
Would you accept a damaged heart?
Not physically, at least I hope
But damaged in the wars of love
Could, or should I even offer such
What would you think of me?
If I tried to hide the pain and hurt
Pretending nothing ever happened
I’d be like the used-car salesman
Who filled the noisy transmission
with sawdust, to cover up
The damage done before
I’d try plug the radiator holes
But my pain would still seep out
The mileometer I’d try to rewind
But the miles done would remain
Chains
Chains around my feet;
age.
Chains around my head;
thought.
Chains around my heart;
friendship.
Chains around my soul;
love.
My love I hung
on a line,
out to dry.
To the bitter winds
of jealousy.
To the calm winds
of an embrace.
Shrivelled by the hot, scirocco
winds of passion.
Lava souls melting.
Lusted and lusting.
Wanted and wanting.
My love I hung
on a line,
in fear of
the black, polluted
dust of decay.
Of love no more
which no wind will stir.
It’s the twenty second, yesterday gone
No super volcano or atomic bomb
Someones’ calculation went astray
The world should have ended yesterday
Down in Yucatan in ages past
Predictions made a little too fast
A man, a chief with feathered hat band
Arms to the sky, numbers in sand
2-1 1-2 2-0-1-2
I’m still here, what about you?
My Words, My World 