Month: September 2019

Light a fire
invite the mystery,
words of rhyme and reason and time;
come sit beneath the tall, cold stars,
listen, the philosopher speaks,
her warm heart is pounding against mine.

Light a fire
invite the lonesome
and sing to the deep, empty beach;
beckoned from the longest shadow,
flickering as the driftwood burned,
she did come and danced within our reach.

Light a fire
invite the darkness
and see who is the first to leave;
for I only want to hold her
in the bright outline of the flame
where nothing there is to disbelieve.

He spoke of the long way
and the tough days
that almost took him under;
you had to be quick
to catch the flicker of light
that sparked his eye with wonder.

I wasn’t born to be followed,
that’s pretty much apparent
as daily posts on Twitter
for the last six hundred
and ninety seven days
attracts just sixty six followers.

When I have finished reading
Tuwhare and Colquhoun and Hunt
I’ll start the work of
pruning my own words,
I’ll pay closer attention
to what it was they wanted to say
and break them out of the rock
of a cold tomb.

I suddenly thought,
these words scribbled
on bits of paper,
scattered across my desk top,
piled in the dark draws,
maybe worth something,
may have something to say
that should be said. Maybe.

I have cleared the desk now,
made space for the words
should they choose to come
and settle on the page
as I wait in the writer’s chair
left by my father.

The song it sings me no more,
it is empty where the music once was,
the rhythm grates like a jack hammer,
the notes are strewn across the floor
and the key that I am looking for
won’t open up the door.