seven terracotta jars

a stumble in the woods, a wanderer
weighted down with collectables —
a twig from the hair of a goddess;
the gilded gleam from the blade of a knight;
seven single tears in seven terracotta jars;
a thousand lifetimes imparted to his heart —
yet here, dust and desert remains.

bones dried up in outrageous heat,
yet he staggered on, dragging one foot
then the other,

thoughts were useful once,
he had kept them like memories of the old land,
yet here on the flat-baked wastelands, they were his master;
they kept him well, in solitude,
they were the shadow that prodded him before sleep;
the night-men whistling down the long corridor outside his chamber.

he became sick, sleepless,
desperately clutching to his collectables,
to his pasts, to his hopeless hope of home.

one night a fever struck so hard
he was bound and lost in swirling seas.
hours passed.
and he rode those waves like Ahab, clinging to the whale.

the conjurer appeared somewhere after three, or was it four?
time made no sense here, it was not liner,
it was vapour scattered on the breeze.

the demons danced around his head,
laughing like harlots,
cackling candle flames about is being.

was this hell?
was this, limbo?

when finally he let go of it all —
the memories, the tales from the thousand year storm.
everything he had so diligently collected,
when he opened his eyes,
was strewn like worthless trinkets on the tide,
and he, on the shore woke to starlight
and seven terracotta jars waiting to be filled.

© phillip mellor 2015


light unravel me,
step by step

we glide upon the earth
like sunlight on the meadow.

dappled dreams
through leaves
to speak your name
in light rays.

i lay in those sacred spaces
just to hear your voice.

© phillip mellor 2015

no silence

even in the stillness
there is sound
dripping from the eaves,
falling down a cheek
from the overflowing lake.

in the trees
there are dreams
built like timber cabins;
in a clearing by the sea
the spray plays the invisible air.

all dissolves in time,
with wear and dedication.
it’s a nice illusion
while it lasts, she says.


before my eyes
i am a child again,
tiptoeing across the ice…

© phillip mellor 2015

goodnight prayers

may an orchestra of moonbeams serenade you to sleep
and twenty seven angels guard your bed.
may you find contentment in the ashes of your day
and strength to let go of words once said.

may pleasant dreams visit you in your silent slumber
and the colours of love set you free.
may you wake in the morning with hope inside your heart
and all the gifts of heaven made for thee.

© phillip mellor 2015


although i am away from you
between us there is no distance.
i know the world we tried to build
crumbled to the sea.
life is full of flow and resistance,
somedays joy, somedays tragedy.
yet the sun rises and sets to see
love in all her children dance.

there is a place we hold within,
where everything we wish to be we are;
a silent space beyond bone and skin,
where light lives within the dark.
a place where we are lovers free,
more than the weight we are burdened by;
where we are much more than absentees,
where we are never born and will not ever die.

© phillip mellor 2015


The mornings are still these days,
The streetlights silent in the half-light
Of shadows and passing trains.
They shake the house,
I feel the mortar move and the bricks slip
Each time the track is passed.

Sometimes two cross,
Wave hello and then goodbye so briefly
There is hardly time for the sharing of names.
That’s ok, for some pass each day,
Same time, same way,
Share names and histories.

Precious moments in life.

It’s sad that the timetables change,
And two once so familiar they were almost one,
Pass on different tracks again.
It’s as if they were strangers once more,
Yet now with that hopeful glance to see if
At the same time each day, in the same place
There might be the other looking the same way
For a familiar friend, with a familiar smile on a familiar face.

Phillip Mellor 2015

Blue Coffee

The bluebird soars
As nighttime yawns
Sliding to slumber
In the waking dawn.
The sunshine smiles
And all the while
The coffee brews,
This coffee’s blue.

The Java jive
Is still alive,
In shuffled sheets
We live our dreams.
Sleepy head
Stay in bed,
It’s ok
Either way.

For morning’s kiss
Upon the lips
As opened eyes
And open minds.
With open hearts
We both embark
To face the day
In love’s blue bay.

The starlings sing
Their offering
In sweetest notes
And sunshine rings.
Come drain the cup,
Don’t give up
Life is brief
But endless is Love.

The bluebird soars,
The nighttime yawns
The sweetest slumber
In the early dawn.
In sunshine smiles
Deep in your eyes.
A coffee for you,
Blue coffee blue.

© Phillip Mellor 2015

A Dance of Stars

all is still within the silent moon of sleep,
yet within the silence there is the tune
as sweet as dew upon a flower petal, and as deep
as the heart of the waking morn.

the saxophone drifts upon the dawn,
as light as a breeze, as fresh as new born
leaf in bud; if you knew you would
dance with the fading stars.

© Phillip Mellor 2015