We stretch our arms out to reach the borders,
Poetry
Goodnight Vincent
As well as putting three new books together I have been recording some of my work lately. This is, Goodnight Vincent, from my book Bones and a Broken Hearts
*note train noise happened at just the right time so I left it in for dramatic effect!!
springtime bird
heart-kiss
scatterings
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,
defiant.
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.
days.
weeks.
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
New Collection(s)…
whispers
light unravel me,
step by step
we glide upon the earth
like sunlight on the meadow.
dappled dreams
tumble
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.
time
passes
before my eyes
i am a child again,
alone,
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