Poem: A wave will rise on quiet water

in the grim night

hills framed with fog

moon supported with skeletons of gods

howling dogs, one by one were silenced

by a chill, a gentle whisper

beyond the grave:

"Eiridh tonn air uisage balbh"

I felt chills running down my spine

as if a nail was scratching my vertebrae

with an ancient chanting

all the gates broke loose

spirits set free

to settle the debts

voices from the other side

an echo of past wars

heard through the valleys

sailor songs thundered once more

against the stirring of the waves

the air fumed

with the spilled blood

breaking loose all the horrors

souls carry into the gates of eternity

from the misty shadow

a once familiar face appears

like a long forgotten love letter

sings me a song of his sorrows

and how it's meant to be

no victory in death he found

stone cold hands grab me

kills me one last time

we return to the bonfire lit a decade ago

*

 Written as a poetry prompt for poets united - link. 've been wanting to write something like this anyway. Most interesting time of the year begins for me, and I again am somewhat sick, a bit delirious from throat pain and the menthol bonbons. Now, that's a horror story ;)

Poem: Before pen touches paper

Should I continue from where I left off? Ignore

the unwritten chapters in between? Characters

remain the same, yet forever changed by the problems

and wounds they let in. Every life is a rose petal

and it's fall echoes like a sparrows song.

 

It's a slow process of progression from one

side to the other. Your goal a reality

or a dream – a plain difference when you try

to write it in a letter; gazing so carefully

at the words, the words gaze back at you.

 

And you giggle at your own hallucinations. In the dream

of our imagination the children whisper

of men’s faults. Calling for a home of peace so close

at hand in the green fields.  Before the moment

of waking up, we are larger than life. Nothing out of place.

 

Writers have not run out of ink, but out of hope

and confidence. There forever remains a silence 

                before pen touches paper.

 Finally autumn inspiration kicked in; the weather is perfect for melancholic music and reading. Even Ollie has been a bit more lazy than usual. The first picture was taken...like five years ago, something like that, and even though people say I look young, I think I looked younger back then ;)

Poem: Between silences

red of the sunset on the grey clouds burns

under the cover of longing the spirits escape

speaking in a foreign language of a time they felt free

amongst the shadows of ourselves the poets sing

between silences capturing raindrops to help us breathe

 

in the water of evening the waves turn

shipwrecked against the tide of time we drift away

blue always above us as we make paper scrapes

to hold a scent of freedom which once made us feel alive

between silences building a hiding place

*

Poem: Voice of a tamed wolf

words leave your lips like a voice of a tamed wolf 

                in silence, with a touch of moonlight

you sense the power they could've had

as the feet seem to remember some path of old

but can't decide which one feels more like home

hundred battles you fought to stay sane 

                your uniform laying on the floor

on your way out, you stumble upon it, every time

a reminder of dreams you had to let go

all black beside you now, only images firing up in your mind 

                like stepping into quicksand

a week is a day, and a night is a minute

running towards an unidentified goal

or drifting away from what you achieved

you watch how everything changes 

                transforming back and forth into a swirl

changing the nature of living

but you keep waking up inside your skin

and are already missing those waking moments

which need no modifications to be perfect

*