Edge Of Evening

I find myself kneeling

at the edge of evening

watching the light sink deeper

into night time’s heavy weight parchment.

A blot of sun’s fading

song remains here and there

pushing through unexpectedly

at decreasing intervals until eventually

they are all subsumed

by indigo’s depth and only

a smattering trail of silver stars

remain upon the sky. I dip my brush carefully

into the gold and red,

paint Jupiter and Saturn

colliding underneath a sliver

of old moon. She is chasing the sun

but will never catch him.

If you listen carefully

you can hear her plaintive call -

the voice of the perpetually heartbroken.

#vsspoem

Image by Wild0ne at Pixabay 

Snow

It doesn’t snow here very often
but when it does it’s bitterly cold
the kind of cold that blows up your jumper
and won’t leave no matter how many layers you pile on,
the kind of cold that whistles deep into your ear drums
and lays a fearsome frost on all your extremities.
 
A cold that constantly whips around your exposed forehead
chattering noisily though you can never make out
a cognizant sound never mind a word. So much chatter
but nothing to go on, nothing to ease the chilling pains.
A distant cold that will never explain itself clearly
but will insist on mustering on dolefully
 
muttering between incoherent grumps and groans
making you feel as though you were to blame
for all this damn coldness freezing your fingertips
scorching your tongue on the too hot hot chocolate he gave you.
The kind of cold that watches your tears roll
and has nothing to say to them..

The kind of cold that leaves without due courtesy
leaving you wondering if you truly exist
or are just a fragment of the cold’s imagination,
or your own - and who are you anyway, with or without the cold?
It starts of as just a few falling flecks
that you could easily dismiss as rain -
 
unpleasant but to be expected, then, before you know it
the ground is covered in slippery gloom and white fear settles
on the roof of your heart, your mind’s pavements
turn invisible underneath the grey slush,
and in the sorry light of a streetlamp
a torrent of frosty flakes tumbles senselessly
 
around the corners of this wretched afternoon.
You turn indoors, turn away, tear your mind from ice
to less overwhelming matter, wipe away
remaining tears, find a tissue to mop up the snuffles,
blow out the whole day, inhale a breath of silence
and feel grateful that it doesn’t snow here very often.

Twilight Robbery

I feel wine’s mellow madness on my tongue

already too soon on my tongue as I swallow the passing day

stale cheese biscuit crumbs attempt to cover the floor

sustenance dried out, cracked down to the core

I feel the moonlight soft on my face already

too soon on my face as I measure the fading day

spoonfuls of lost time spill from clumsy lips

a lifetime of regret sits heavy on the hips

I took the medicine and drank the green juice

attempted to follow the guidance of shams

I sit in the last light and count all my thumbs

pick out the cherries from amongst today’s crumbs

I took tea with a druid, his cookies were fresh

I lay in the red tent, held by spirit, flew free

entranced in the moment, did not hear time’s call

at the end of the day I’d give a fig for some more

Blue is receding, kidnapped by Evening

she doesn’t want to leave but is too tired to fight

and here comes Night with her wine and deep sighs

I’ll gather them up, look her straight in the eyes

say I know you are bound by the moon and the sun

but can’t you be late, hold off, just for once?

she laughs in my face, throws open her cloak

coats my sky in a darkness too strong to revoke

so I’ll open the wine, pour a glass of regret

drown all my yearnings for the day to return

let Night have her way for just a few hours

till Morning releases my Blue from her powers