The Storyteller

Land of the Forgotten

2008-05-26T13:28:00.000-07:00

Beyond the Sky
There is a place
On which we rest our heads
And dream a dream
That’s bitter sweet
Of a time we loved gone by
And at the edge
The waves do crack
Upon an ash-grey shore
And call us down
To the meeting place
And the universe we saw
We smell the smells
And feel the touch
Of things we had long forgot
We sailed our ships
Of pearl-white wings
As we left this land we adore

Room with a View

2008-05-26T13:27:00.000-07:00

White-washed walls
In a small box room
And bars on a window frame
As the light breaks
Shadows do crawl
She is trapped in a room with a view
The mirror is cracked
In a small box room
And the lights begin to fade away
White-washed eyes
Are wet with the smell
Of being trapped in a room with a view
A picture in a frame
That does not move
The clock hands don’t go round
A wall, a book rest
And a mind suppressed
Her window is fixed with a view

An English Rose

2008-05-26T13:21:00.000-07:00

An English Rose
Does brew her tea
In a white china pot
One or two?
No sugar cube?
And served with a biscuity treat

An English Rose
Does clean her home
With pride and a dust-free cloth
Floor are shining
Clothes need ironing
And the birds do sing her a tune

An English Rose
Does watch her life
And contemplates her view
Husband is home
Stomachs do groan
And the key in the back door turns shut

As featured in BFR magazine
http://bfrmag.blogspot.com/

A Perfect Love

2008-05-26T13:19:00.000-07:00

Two strangers pass by chance on the street
And on a whim their glances meet
Between the patter of busy feet
Two stranger’s passing glances meet

No words are passed between the two
Their future? They don’t have a clue
Two souls connect, like me and you
No words and no future have these two

It doesn’t matter if they meet again
No swapping numbers, no passing pen
No chance for hate or bitterness then,
Two strangers glancing, never again

The Freewheelers

2008-05-02T14:29:00.000-07:00

A freewheeler sits at the bottom of the stairs
Her boots flung next to her feet
An expression of freedom is worn on her lips
As she looks at the satchel she keeps

Her life and a suitcase is all she needs
Her head and a good pair of shoes
To walk through the world on a dusty worn path
That life wouldn’t suit me and you

She remains in world that is locked with a key
And opens to only a few
Free from words unsaid and thoughts unfed
Yet her boots’ soles are fixed with glue

There is, however, a heavy price to pay
The loneliest place is your head
She wanted a world of freedom and wonder
But there was no-one to share her bed

A freewheeler lies beneath the stars
But there’s a strange tune that plays in her heart
One chains been severed, but another binds her wrist
As the silence is tearing her apart