poetryhouse

Creeping by some starlit field
to sit beside a moon
that only cries and mourns
the light that fell
too softly.

In the light of afternoon
in a valley of sunflowers
he paints madly.
Each stroke of brush a fist
that falls leaden.

Too blue the sky, and stars
are but a pinshaft
that pecked at his canvas
He never valued one lick
of his own genius.

When the martyrdom bit him
he did not cry or whimper.
Nor did he fall upon a sword
He faded from that field
into fames arms.

Follow him and watch him
to find the briefest scent of all
that he became in madness
But never mourn a moment
of his passing

D. Hayes

Church pews they begin to fill
Dad still blanching at the bill
The Groom he will soon take a Wife
You can cut the tension with a knife.
Platitudes and gratitudes
Relatives with attitudes
A dress of white? – was that wise?
Her belly it is such a size
Wedding march, the bride in view
very soon both say “I DO”
Children fidget, mothers chide
“Sir, you may now kiss the bride”
Off they go to the Parish Hall
Music, dancing, have a ball !
The tables groan with food galore
Children sliding on the floor
Mothers glare a withering frown
Pick up their kids and dust them down
The band strikes up, a tenor croons
Uncle, PLEASE don’t play the spoons !
The bride and groom for photos, kissing
The Best man and the bridesmaid missing???
Time to cut the wedding cake
(though the silver handled knife’s a fake!)
Then the last waltz starts to play
and very soon they’re on their way
Old folks talk of weddings past
The sceptics wonder “will it last?”
Then off they go, this man and wife
to parenthood, and their new life.

D. Hayes

I’m only painting rainbows
in finger-daubs of paint
some of them look crude
and others look quite quaint.

A basketweaving exercise
to keep the mind alive
a codacil of nonsense
to let some madness thrive.

The colours aren’t in sequence
I can’t say that I care
it’s just a painted rainbow
hanging in the air.

The clouds they come and go again
following the rain
there are no wild imaginings
no sorrow or no pain

It’s just a painted rainbow
a pixellated splash
It isn’t art or loftiness
a simple piece of trash.

But colour is still colour
and time is just a ruse
Sanity and madness
are words to just peruse

So leave me painting rainbows
upon a sky of blue
my rainbows shine for me alone
you may have a different view

D. Hayes

I still cannot remove
that blessed stain
if such it was.
You were imperfect
and I could see
a shining perspective.
No barefaced truths
or similes of flowers.

Strength can be a cobweb
and chains but a lie.
To hold your nose
too close to the words
makes them sometimes merge
into a deeper story
though often the blank
of sanitized white.

You have changed!
you use each word
as nails in a cross
to pin my hands.
Base thoughts and dark
merge in to one
and onward goes
tomorrows dream

Burnt petals on stone.
The taste of ashes
inside a mouth
once moist and red;
Inviting mine
to darker sins
that were but truths
unspoken, bare.

D. Hayes

When chilled stars fell through frost
and all the earth did sigh for it,
I found myself the wanting child
without those absent arms.

My inward eye of mind and heart
did fold me once again, entombed
in bitter and regretful depths,
until I could not breathe.

A blameless innocent for once.
No longer washed by tainted dreams.
I only gave the essence pure
of all that I could be.

Ah but sometimes it falls so short,
and expectations all a trap,
and once again the dull and leaden
rainclouds fold me o’er.

David Hayes

Small steps interlaced
with smiles that say
very little.
A hand held out
and sometimes
one given in return.
Journeys are like that
they begin and end.

In the month
of many colours
and untold truths
shone a wisdom
brighter than you
or I could encompass.
Your own mind
and my particular way.

Then when rains
came and beat
upon our backs
the sunshine stored
made it all bearable.
You can only be
what your own heart
will allow.
.
Notes drift and die
and each notes death
lingers on in sadness
interlaced with joy.
You grieve your youth
as I grieve mine
but you continue
the offbeat disbelief.
.
So take whats left
and weave again
a basket for hearts
and re-learn
what it’s like
to feel again.
The pain is worth
the death once more.

David Hayes

Coax these spirits forward.
Advance the moon, and stars
that dangle from the clouds,
illicitly and wanton now
they only dance for me.
The mother of all order comes
as histories unfold throughout
the sleepless haunted night.

You are on the treetops
and on each windstroked meadow.
A leaf away from destiny,
A seed away from joy.
A eulogy of sanctity,
a church upon the firmament,
You stand in truth apart
but speak of only lies

A movement from the corners
of eyes that only close
and wish away their demons
and turn them in to day.
Inside my voice the doorway
leads to the vaulted echoes
Of tongues and native heartaches
along the road of faith.

Slower now, with purpose
you glide across the pathway
of stones and day strewn memories
towards the well of misery
To find me waiting there.
Bold spirit you are destiny
no truth is spoken wisely
or whispered in your eyes.

Sit you down beside me
and tell me of the daybreak
where brothers of your kind
do live and thrive within a kiss.
Extremities and boundaries
of blown and wild bare boughs
That rattle at the windowpanes
and in earnest, tell their tales.

In tongues so foreign to me
You whisper now respectfully
the lies that see no shadows
or stand upon that strand.
Where grains of sand move fitfully
upon the salt sea tears
Then wash away the traces
of every footprint there

David Hayes