Shake & Stir

The Night Consumes Feathery Farewells of Distant Waves

The night consumes feathery farewells of distant waves;

Darkness steals memories of vortexing vampire vapours;

As you slip into that void where only a name once spoken

Tells of another voluptuous time when we were not corpses

Feeding upon the elements of time and the sod's sad song.

I knew you as flaxen fairness flew around your face,

Eyes green glinting malachite meteorites skyward falling

Like tears understood as pearls of our inevitable parting.

Symbols of death emerged one by one with the mellow,

Sonorous sound of notes gently stroked and tinkling

Echoes of a piano plucking adagio-like at my soul,
As gently the footsteps descend into inky oblivion.

How It Used To Be

Those of us who recall

How it used to be

Will never fall

For what we see

Now.

It was so much better

How it used to be

Before the flow

Of antipathy

Unfettered.

Those not here

In England

Of yesteryear

Cannot comprehend

How

It

Used

To

Be.

Memories Now Distant

Memories now distant,
As some silent brook,
Trickle in the mind
Where still waters dwell.

Hair tangled long across
The shoulders of rarest
Recollection and loss
Of one who was fairest;

You float wan and faint,
Still with beauteous look,
Though therein I find
A glint of darkest hell.

And so you gather now,
Dearest departed one,
At this unearthly hour
When you should be gone.

Jo-Anne R.I.P.

From way  back when, another era

Where no longer buildings stand

To hold the echoes of the cheer

And fun in the sun held so dear.

Gone are those carefree days 

Of shimmering blue pools,

Sunlight dancing as we lazed 

Laughed and played the fool.

A different time, a better time,

When less was more; each day

Bringing a new precious find

To gladden our carefree way.

There was of that happy few one

Who better knew what we had

In lieu of what makes folk sad, 

And now that dear soul is gone.

Her name is Jo-Anne.

The Sun Always Shone

The sun always shone
On my mother's birthday.
Come what may,
It always shone.

Today was no change.
Except, of course, to say
That it seemed strange
Again to see the rays

And know that she is gone.

They Came to Darken Our Vision

They came to darken our vision

With their their soul-killing doubt,
Disbelief; their mistrusting fission;
Their scepticism, cynicism and shout

Of bleak, unimaginative emptiness;
Of negative, deathly dark dullness.

They came, this newly arrived throng
Of hopeless unromantics, to bring
Their miserable dreariness along
To our place where we sing

Of things more real than their blind
World of naught spiritual, naught kind.

They bring darkness to our light;
They bring ennui to our hope;
They bring cowardice to our fight;
They bring death to our trope.

They are the modern materialists;
They are the cynical "realists"

Whose perception of our sight,
Our discernment of the unseen,
Disturbs what they find right,
  And threatens what they glean.

Thus our world grows dimmer;
Our view hidden and slimmer.

Yet we recall that other time
When oblivion was effaced
And the only sort of crime
Was one that lacked grace.

Yes, we remember when our mission
Combined with courage and vision!