Tale

Tell myself the truth

Where did I lose

The dream your hand

Revealed

I see you turn my dark

Into light

The words written on

Your skin

The twist in my faith

Lost for ever

Still I hear

Your footsteps

Echo the trail

Of

Parallel

Tears and fears

With joy and smiles

Pain and gains

Of life’s reveal

The perpendicular

Fading in the past

The lines never cross

Yet

Still remain as one

In my joy of your

Happiness

His hand in yours

The love you share

What to write

It was of a Monday when the lights came over the sun and the moon was just a memory not long forgotten and she held his hand by resting her head on his shoulder. No sleep had been enjoyed since love had been engaged upon with vigour and gentle touch under a moonless night. Never once from the beginning had he entered her body with the absence of a warmth in his heart which spread beyond the logic of his mind to delve deep beyond the locked chasms of his soul. A part of him he would have have denied existing but which he always held a secret hope of eventually discovering: she was beyond his reach in the normal course of human interactions with a beauty he would hold in his heart until the day its final beat lapsed his never ending regrets into the calm repose of nothingness. Somehow his words had transcended the physical inequality of their respective positions in the potential romantic pecking order of human interactions to allow for moments to be shared which would transform the world from one of drudgery to a place where the rainbow of the dragonfly’s wings sprinkled its magic along the yellow brick road of his destiny and he knows somehow hers too from the look in her eye and the smell in the air and the sound of her body.

The moon cast its trail painting a memory along the river under the bridge where he imagined grasshoppers playing fiddles among the dew drops of a morning capable and indeed willing to change the man he could ever be from such a silent morning onwards. Evolution expedited from a multi generational phenomenon to the wonderful instantaneous transformation of true love

As much as the field of daffodils did for a man of words so the moment would in vacant or in pensive thought be for ever the place he would revisit constantly to languish in a love beyond his highest expectations or imaginations.

To be continued…….

The most I’ve written in so long in a prose style. Words spilling from inside not sure of their origin but knowing the validity of their truth and the warmth of the image. Where do the words ever come from but once they start they refuse to stop there need to be set free only matched by my addiction to hear what they have to say. Voices in my mind would they have locked us in the home for the bewildered once of a not too far distant time. I promise myself to indulge with the keyboard on Saturday. What am I without my words but a beast roaming who has forgotten the beauty of the pen

Random

Corduroy boots prancing

She stepped beyond the

Pole he wrote on the line

Weeping lines of ash

Trailers painted morning

Pink reflecting in Spaniard

Dancing boots of vacant

Leather

Hidden he commences

To descend above the flames

Burnt into pale fluorescent

Tattoos depicting the stray

Torture of a dreary priests

Last moments

Curled toes stretch to caress

The lost pole golden skin

Of the girl lying naked

Fiddling with his emotions

While her cross eyed stare

Describes the winter time

Design of her corduroy

Boots cast meaninglessly

Before the amber turf

Of his vacant fire

(C) Francis Mcgivney

Rolling

The blood we share on the mats

Pulsing to the crunching of our ears

A slap of a fist for respect

We delve within ourselves to feel

For the truth of who we are inside

In their eyes I see the beast inside

Not the one of popular imaginations

But the quiet one whose growl

Resonates with the freedom

To stand for who I am,

unshackled

From societies expectations

Perceptions and deceptions

Who’s choice instead

Encompasses

The gentle word

The silent smile

The ferocious growl

To allow

The tender touch

(C) Francis Mcgivney

Brazilian jiu jitsu is for everyone but after a while it’s only for those with the beast inside