Shared spheres

On tarnished minds the earth does rest.
A swallow up in the rafters.
Breaking for the dawn.
The bended knee, the broken back.
How much weight is rested on those weary shoulders?
The magic is hidden young. Robbed when you weren’t looking.
Hidden in anniversary cards and chocolate eggs.
Luscious dreams to melt on your tongue.
But you tip this world over, looking for the things you’ve lost.
Things you never even had.
As you fade into the pages of the book of existence.
A noted inscription against your name.
That you were here, that you breathed and worried.
As that gloom may coil around your ankles.
And the sky temporarily goes grey.
This world will still spin on its aching axis.
A jewel shining against the blackness of space’s muddied windowpane.
And you remember, and never forget.
That we all feel the same.

She dwelt on the moon

She lived up there, where nowhere went.
A sparkled silent sky just for her.
And her dreams and diamonds, all well spent.
As she walked through this world in a blur.
For it was on the moon her soul resided.
In lunar craters she crept and hided.
Watching the world from the safety of space.
Removed and distant, from the maddening human race.

Keeping the skeletons subdued

Once, when it was too late.
They slipped in to carry our innocence away.
Stealing our tomorrows with sacks on their backs.
They told us to go west to paradise.
Look up, and think of eucalyptus.
Not these pale blue eyes that drag you to the ocean floor.
A watered grave where your dreams erode like a pebble on the riverbed.
Dressed us in sweet words as they stripped our skin.
Wiping away everything. No fingerprints on our souls.
That great American hero. That angel in the night with the candle burning.
They kept the strings pulled tight.
Bunched and preened us.
Our daffodil heads blobbing in the winds of subjugation.
They touched us deep and unwelcomed.
Feeling up our virtue like a priest would.
Filthy fingers around our bones and hearts.
Stunted our growth.
Licked at us with arthritic tongues, soaking us with erosive saliva.
They hold us still, keeping us in the storm.
As the nightmare rages on.

Try not to breath

Hidden in the shell at the bottom of your soul.
In the hollow of your neck where your vertebrae’s buckle.
The palm of your hand.
It resides. Coughing out songs and laughter.
As you cry.
You choose and change this religion.
Writing your own dreams to dapple these eyelids of the young.
Sticky with Jesus kisses and Vaseline.
Now, there was someone with a bad judge of character.
Yet judge not, lest ye be judged as you chorus and ring in these ears.
Who disagrees?
Off with their heads and bring the bones to your feet.
Suck the soul from within like sap from a tree.
Or a balloon full of fear. Inhaled in a quiet dark room.
Where the shadows and ugly realities lie.
In wait. Ready to buzz out in phosphor.
Luminous lies.
Though it all means nothing to you. A new leprosy for a non-contact age.
Kept at a distance and viewed only through a screen.
Flashing pulsars.
As your neck gives in, staring at a phone all day.
You tie their necks back. A soft motherly touch, done in pink ribbons and lace.
They do not notice how tight you pull, as their view clouds and all they hear is your voice.
Talking, not of the bombs you will drop or the mustard gas breath you hiss.
You tell them they are superman.
Bittersweet and free.

Gold in the blood

Red rain, falling like sulphur.
Staining the world and the paper people.
Fold, recycle, cut and paste.
A papercut on this heart, opening for the light.
Blow your love into my brain.
Mist my eyes and let me slip into a miasmic dream.
Heady and concentrated.
Addiction is my latest mission.
Feeling you pin prick my fingertips.
You rock, paper, scissor me out.
Winning through with luck and bad taste.
Sending stinging sensations through my blood.
Singing me to sleep with a silent orchestra.
You banish the ghosts from these cobwebbed chasms.
Empty of love and anything bright.
No we dance in the sun, shining like silver and precious stones.
You weigh me down with this gold you shoot into my veins.
Holding me secure, better than gravity, for fear I would float away.

Dragon days

A sleeping dragon in these bones, steaming up solace.
Warming this heart with a smouldering fire of care.
He gives me scales which armour my soul.
A silent guardian in this misleading world.
As we meandering down our own roads.
Upon shifting tectonic plates of time and the ground we tread.
He balances and sympathise.
Illuminates and rationalise.
All that flashes and dances before these tired old eyes.
Charging at the ghosts that call me to the deep cold lake.
Banishing the knots of doubt, that weevil into my mind.
A guardian, a soul protector.
Giving me magic to fly into the mystical sky.
Leaving shadows in my wake.

A Bhikku’s Tale

Deep in a forest of Inis Fail, there was a cabin, well hidden, in which there lived a solitary bhikku…

‘Bhikku Reilly of Fararden Wood has defeated the mad god Morpheo’s dragon with the help of Red City’s shaman, Murray. Now they face a much harder task.
In a fight with Cernunnos, Morpheo has broken off a piece antler from the horned god, which gives him immeasurable power over the natural world. Reilly and Murray, together with the Green Man, the Sybarite and the ghost girl, Tracy, must pursue the mad god and stop him from taking over the whole country of Inis Fail.

Their journey takes them to the Otherworld and back again, crossing the paths of many colourful characters and strange creatures.’

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Packed with Irish mythology and great landscapes for you to transverse,  ‘A Bhikku’s tale’ by Dave R. Jordan is worth looking up: Goodreads  & Amazon

Quit quiet qualm

You struggle to breathe now.
With guilt filling your lungs like water.
Careful not to break.
To run a ground on regret.
Problems that seemed better in the morning.
Bare on your skin like the sun of the rising zodiac.
Crawling with your Taurus tendencies.
Your face fails to fill my eyes, contorted and hidden.
Peeping in and out of truth and reality.
Slipping into the past like an exit manoeuvre.
Weightless, like your words.
Faithless and scared.
That toe dip into the world or the righteously misled.
As the dam breaks, and the clouds sigh in sadness.
Washing me in the rain of your ghostly tears.
A phantom I left two minutes before you even knew what you were doing.
Coincidence or grand design?

Chasing shadows

And they came in the night.
Dripping off of nightmares and fears carved in rock.
Slithered out from under my tongue.
They cracked your vertebrae and dusted our world with the pieces.
Those shadows of things.
Unspoken ideas that click and tumble around your skull.
The world unhooked the latch, and blocked out the stars.
Heaved into a silent supernova which bubbled in my soul.
Flick the charcoal from your fingertips.
Smear my brain with the sooty powder of the shadow you inhaled.
The yokey adjuster that they installed in our eyelids.
Click and turn like a wheel of bones.
Yet they drape our world in festive garbs of black.
Cutting velvet cakes in half, filled with dark oily dirt.
Escaping the shadows, cupping them like butterflies in your hand.
You may feel safe, but it doesn’t make it so. The shadows know.
They feed off us, the plentiful.
Like wedding guests at a buffet.
Greedily feeding and flashing false smiles.
Letting the wolves in the backdoor.
Staining shadows.
Stealing honey from the moon.

Elasticity

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The self sabotage roping you in.
How to trust in that shaky hydra of skin?
As you search through it all,
Everything you thought was love;
Horded into corners.
Pushed aside, rummage through,
When your mind can bare to touch it.
Separate the conversations,
Into more tolerable piles.

Stacked up to the ceiling;
All those long ago friends.
You behooved their art,
Spinning wonder towards
The ethereal 9 to 10.
Treasures found in medicine cabinets, borrowed hasselblad lap shots
On bedspreads, and shower curtains,
Became sudden backdrops.

His black hair tugs
At your memory strings.
Backwards in the darkroom
For the make-out session.
Only wanted you as a moving stranger.
We exposed and dramatized our Destructions.
Too much vodka weeping
And highway speeding.
But he followed you home;
To thread you into a knot
And began to call you his friend.

How many more after him?
Lowell’s alarm,”they’ll never come…

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A mouth full of marbles

You hold me until the ghosts are quiet.
Pulling into your soul this shadow of doubt.
A brain full of fire and a mouth full of marbles.
Yet you force me to speak.
A language of unsaying, fluent as the sphinx.
This hostility threatens everyone.
Those been and gone, and ones yet to be.
Sitting on the edge of expectation.
Tasting the chalk in my mouth.
My viper tongue recoils, and you slither away.
Into your own darkness, leaving just reality in my wake.
A wounded bird, a lamb in the teeth of this lion.
Yet my shepherd heart yearns for brighter days and greener pastures.
So let me spit out a saying, one practised like a prayer.
To quiver down your spine.
And rattle in your brain for an age.
Words that will flash before your eyes when you think of me.
And everything that all burnt away.

Spasm

What murmur stutters into existence?
Fast and slow.
Checking out of morality and shaking into something else.
Blur the lines of acceptance.
As we slither into another skin.
And cry within.
Apologise with deep sensation.
Called everything but what you are.
At first it really hurt, but now we joke about it.
Diminished as the light turns low.
Knee jerk into a falling, a sweeping weeping that leaves you empty.
You gave your best today, but you stumble.
Stutter and spasm into another day, another time.
A romantic funeral for the martyr of destiny.
That role no-one chose.
A goodbye for the already forgotten.

life less lived but love well spent

Singledust

twin-lagoon-1024x768.jpg Image from Google

Written for my dearest friend  for the celestial things we share.

Read a beautiful story “Her Own Universe” on Havoc and Consequence

Once not so very often
We chance upon a phenomenon
When a celestial body breaks free
And a star gives up its beauty
To come and live among humanity

In this lifetime we are lucky
if we come across that star
who gave up its beauty
to become light and live
humbly and generously

A star that sees your scars
and calls them pretty
that knows your hurts and
touches them with respect
and gives you back your dignity

helping you see light
when you hide
in the shadows
of cool dark lagoons
swimming in the murky shallows

this falling star is like that friend
who knows you better than yourself
for they traveled the road before you
and were sent ahead to guide you

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Trance

I scratch this DNA, this mind a flutter.
Remembering you now from somewhere.
Heaven drips down like wine though my veins.
Shivering into something new.
This astral body shifts.
With mind a glitch.
Trying to figure out where we begun.
The love and life ebbs and flows.
I smell this connection between us.
Lost in a convection of trust.
Let me sizzle on your side and get lost for a while.
Skipping pebbles across the universe in time.

Her own universe

Tuesdays were always difficult. A problem day. A nothing day. All the things wrong in her life seemed to have occurred on that second day of the week. Second for her at least, some people she knew classed Sunday as the first day. What did they know she always thought? She could always gauge how one Tuesday was to unfold anyway, the motivation of Monday dripped away by the evening, making way for another mediocre book-end of days that collected on the shelf of her life. But this Tuesday was different. Different in a similar sort of way, like driving down a road that you’ve never been down before, yet knowing there will be a dead end.
The rain had done it’s best to encourage her to stay at home that day, the wind whipping up a sizeable storm outside her windowpane to keep her safely tucked inside watching the world come to a watery end. The promise of a good book by her small cosy fire was not enough of a lure it seemed, to keep her from going over to see her mother. She lived on the other side of town, which in itself was not a large body of houses, you could cross to the other side in about ten minutes by car. However, Jackie didn’t own a car and she didn’t drive. She was much too anxious to be let loose in a world where maniacs were given licenses to speed along invisible racetracks.

So that day, the Tuesday day; she braved the weather and made her way to her mother’s house. She was prepared for the storm, and had dispensed on the cumbersome umbrella that would no doubt pick her up and whisk her away to Oz. Instead, she was bundled up so tight and so well she looked like a yeti wading through the small streets, caring not to the cars that splashed by her on their own personal adventures.

She’d had the ominous feeling since breakfast, that something was out of sync that day. The weather was the first warning, the second being her hands which had been shaking since she had tried to spoon the cornflakes into her mouth for breakfast. The tiny pieces of cereal had fallen all around her bowl like tiny bits of cardboard on a craft mat. She’d taken a pill and all had seemed fine, though she couldn’t shake the feeling. It stuck to her like the film of milk left on an emptied glass.

She thought more of it now, watching a black cat dart out from under someone’s parked car on the side of the street. Unaccustomed to being out in the wet weather, it glared at her as it made its way to the safety of a porch of the house she passed. The feeling was itching away at her insides now, and she quickened the pace towards her mother’s house.

“Mum, it’s me” She called into the small little cottage. Her mother never locked her doors, refusing to believe she was living in the 21st century, still half expecting friendly neighbours to pop in to see how she was doing and borrow sugar. She closed the door and locked it firmly behind. “Mum?”. But there was no reply. The house wasn’t quiet though. It groaned and shunted in the storm, and in the rooms away some pipes gurgled into their own orchestral concert. She took off her jacket, hanging it up on the coat hook by the front door. She passed by the picture of her father, nestled into a neatly polished silver frame, greeting anyone who entered her mother’s kingdom with a smile and a look of knowing.

At her feet she felt Apollo brush past her, gliding through the hallway like a streak of fur. Her mother had had her since she was a kitten, given to her by one of the ladies she played bingo with down at the village hall. She’d always said she was more of dog person, but she secretly, Jackie suspected, adored that cat; who took great pride of place throughout her mother’s well organised life. Apollo meowed noisily and scuttled off towards the conservatory.

“Mum, you about?” she called out again. Holding back the alarm now that had convened on her feeling of ill and dreed since the morning. She followed the cat to the back of the house, the rain thundering hard down onto the conservatory roof, tining and thundering through the back room.

There she saw her mother, slumped on the side of her high backed chair. A stranger would have guessed she was sleeping, but Jackie knew her better than that, and though she couldn’t help it, she hung back for a moment, bracing her emotions for the tidal of grieve that was to come.

There was a slow rumble of thunder coming from outside, the ferociousness of the storm was waiting in the wings still, about to set forth it’s lasered dance of lightning and noise. She brushed the loose hair that had fallen over her mother’s face, the greying sight of age that hung loose and lifeless. Her eyes were closed she noticed, and a huge part of her was relieved to think that she had felt no pain.

She was sat in the centre of the conservatory just by her huge astromic telescope that she had bought herself a few years ago. Anyone who came to the house always thought it was decorative. The type of thing high end department stores sell for obscure aesthetics to those with more taste than knowledgeable inclination. One look around to spot the kitschy frog ornaments and dusty fake flowers would be enough to tell you it wasn’t one of those. This was an actual telescope, and her mother simply adored star gazing. She would sit out here, and sometimes in the garden on the warmer nights, and gaze up into the heavens. She knew all of the constellations of course, and would set Jackie’s niece Angela on her lap when she came over and try to find the planets for her, even in the day.

Her mother sat there now, an empty shell in that high back chair, her hand on her notepad with some scribblings of her night’s recent gazing. Apollo jumped up and sat on her lap, wafting the smell of her perfume up into Jackie’s nostrils, flaring up memories and loss. She cried there then, for about twenty minutes, her hand in her mother’s as she said her goodbyes. She wondered what to do after, going over to her mother’s phone in the kitchen to ring her brother to tell him what had happened. Seeing in her mind’s eye the next 24hrs unfolding in a terrible depressive snapshot of time.

She put the phone back in its cradle and instead went to the kettle and made herself a cup of tea. She sat with her mother for the rest of the day, until the sun slipped out of the sky and darkness descended. The storm had long ago blown itself into oblivion, making way for the tranquil stillness that comes after a hurricane. Jackie had done the same, allowing the moments and thoughts of despair to be swept away in the stormy waters.

She looked up through the telescope to see the stars dancing above in their diamond beauty, and then she got to work.

She reached up through the telescope and grabbed the black duvet of space. Some stardust sprinkled her hands like glitter off a birthday card. She heaved and pulled and dragged the galaxy down to earth where she and her mother sat in that conservatory on that infamous Tuesday. She tugged and dragged, scaring poor Apollo with her grunts and sighs, who dived behind her mother’s cardigan which she had wrapped around her body, stiffening slowly as she slipped into rigor mortis. When she had what she needed, she drew it around her mother, blanketing her in the sea of stars. The ones she had longed for all her life. Wrapping her tightly like a swaddled child, in a stars and space. Keeping her safe forever in the place she loved.

Little Black Horn

 

Little black horn, weathered and worn; wondering about what to do.
He split the world and climbed inside, and out of hell he peaked on through.  

Little Black Horn: A Collection of Short Horror Stories:-

‘A woman struggles to hide the truth from a creature she believes to be her lover; a man journeys to Southern Italy in search of a witch; a child makes a pact with a voice he hears at the bottom of his garden.

From adult fairy-tales to suburban horror; dark intentions seep through this collection of tales from the imagination of Harley Holland.’

Buy the work in paperback or on kindle here: Little Black Horn

Check out Harley Holland also

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Pepper and papaverine

Keep my image in your head.
As your bruises turn to yellow.
As the pain subsides and the chaos falls down.
Your post-blue tiptoe through the poppies.
Licking the petals as they brown in the sun.
The cold light of morning blankets us both.
Glittering off broken promises and the whisper of regret.
We turn our world for another rotation around the central star.
Angels waiting to tear inside you.
Reparative cells bonding with my inclination.
To heal you and us, in a milky star shaped pool.
Pick the debris out of your mind and take my hand.
These explosions you are seeing, they are only clouds of uncertainty.
A falling disease, defeated by love and the heart that we call our home.
Hang you head to the side and listen.
These sweet words of supple saltitude, savouring the sublime.
Triggering happy thoughts and novocaine in our minds.
Wash it down. Sweat it out.

Unchained symphony

And she landed, a million miles from where she begun.
By the setting sun.
Casting its long shadow over a dying beast.
A monster of misogyny and inequation.
Scratching the head of those scholared men.
Who wrote the rule book, who watch now as it burns.
Sending their eyes to fire and ashes towards the deep.
A sinking ship of the unrighteous, captain rats going down with their pride.
She thinks of them not, as she stretches over oceans and space.
Checking in the borrowed time of her mother’s generation.
Her grandmother’s tenacious hope, that all will be put right.
Twitch your ears, and soar your spirit into the unknown.
Liberated from the yoke of self-doubt.
Tired of walking on egg shells.
She can be found, if you care to look.
Out on the rocks, away from the lighthouse.
Far from the maddening crowd, holding tight.
Covered in jewels and perspiration.
Forging a new world for those yet to be.

Bloom

Creak and crack around the edges.
Let the dust and lust fall into the sky.
I spread my skin, hiding the unsightful scars.
Dazzling instead with my peacock stance.
These petals of purity, grown forth from a rugged soil.
Dance into the sunlight, coaxing ruby and daffodil stares.
Split open this mouth and allow words to flow.
Sweet like a mountain stream.
Coursed through volcanic changes of thought.
Letting you kiss my lava lips that sting your tranquil waters.
Turn my tale towards the sun, picked like photosynthesis on evolution’s hide.
What grows there they will chatter.
The borning out of terror-former.
Shocked out of a system that was impaled in the past.
Growing new delights to tantalise and snap.
Around this Venus.
Be on your guard and handle with gloves.
This thorny rose delivered from Eden.