Roads Across The Sea

We stretch our arms out to reach the borders,

Over water and under sky we catch the breeze.
I place my heart lightly on your dreams,
To see if it melts, to see how it feels
For just one lifetime to love and be loved
Without hesitation, without resignation. 
If there was a road over the sea,
I would walk to you, my love,
Counting each step like a mantra,
Feeling the salty water beneath my soles.
And I know you would be there waiting,
My queen, my little raven wrapped in ebon robes.
Phillip Mellor 2015

springtime bird

there’s a bird singing in my garden
the notes of the new day sun,
an equinox of the love that rises
through our hearts as one. 
his song fills our senses to mingle
and merge with these parallel shifts.
a cornucopia of wonder waits
at the borders of our fingertips. 
there’s a bird singing in my garden
he sings his song only for you.
he has followed my arrangement so perfectly 
the colour he sings of is new. 
there’s a bird singing in my garden
with no idea what he’ll become. 
yet he knows that is heart has been captured
by the spring that has finally come. 
phillip mellor 2015 

heart-kiss

your naked breath upon my skin,
    hands wound tight like galaxies spiralling. 
landscapes crumble into silent streams
    where whispers melt with echoes. 
    dreams in the ethereal sky star a still sea
and ripple the veil in front of my eyes. 
     forgive me if my mouth is speechless at this, 
but the sweep of your soul has me caught. 
there is no time to tell you all that i ought,
     so take this kiss from my heart as your own. 
and know that the ways we travel are vast
     and wherever you wander, you are never alone.
     even the night cannot keep us apart,
its vast mountains and seas are useless at this. 
      for i am the breeze, the sun and the stars,
always brushing lightly at your heart. 
i am the waves, the storm and the sea,
      the warmth that you feel in each coffee sip. 
i am your heart and i am your soul,
       even the wind, breathless at your lips. 
phillip mellor 2015

scatterings 

the carrion crow of my soul takes his nightly seat,
like clockwork, around midnight he claims his post.
dedicatedly he picks at the meat, as one dead eye fixes me.
a caw shrieks the stillness like a yellow streak of moon,
with this, the memories of you begin their feast. 
your hair falling like autumn leaves,
scattering colours on a painters palette.
upon the green lawn, your orange blossom song
like a dawn of lifetimes remembering the breeze. 
your breath upon my face and your heart beating. 
your eyes like emerald dreams. 
and the shadows merge with the light,
the clock ticks to-and-frow
and these tired lids lift the sun. 
i wake to find you gone,
with nothing left but the picked bones of love. 
no song, no dream, no you and no crow;
just this body, a scattered offering to the thunder god. 
© phillip mellor 2015

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

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